THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ESSAYS PHILOSOPHICAL 
 AND PSYCHOLOGICAL 
 
 IN HONOR OF 
 
 WILLIAM JAMES 
 
 PROFESSOR IX HARVARD UNIVERSITY 
 
 BY HIS COLLEAGUES AT COLUMBIA 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 91 AND 93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK 
 
 LONDON, BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA 
 
 1908
 
 Copyright, 1908, 
 By Longmans, Green, and Co. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.
 
 CoVrza 
 
 /' '■' 
 
 PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 THIS volume is intended to mark in some 
 degree its authors' sense of Professor James's 
 memorable services in philosophy and psychology, 
 the vitality he has added to those studies, and 
 the encouragement that has flowed from him to 
 colleagues without number. Early in 1907, at the 
 invitation of Columbia University, he delivered a 
 course of lectures there, and met the members of 
 the philosophical and psychological Departments 
 on several occasions for social discussion. They 
 have an added motive for the present work in the 
 recollections of this visit. 
 
 Columbia University, 
 March, 19O8.
 
 ESSAYS PHILOSOPHICAL AND 
 PSYCHOLOGICAL
 
 , ;.--• 
 
 I. ^
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL ESSAYS 
 
 Page 
 I. THE NEW REALISM 1 
 
 By George Stuart J'ullerton. 
 
 II. DOES REALITY POSSESS PRACTICAL CHARAC- 
 TER? ol 
 
 By John Dewey. 
 
 III. A FACTOR IN THE GENESIS OF IDEALISxM . . 81 
 
 By Wendell T. Bush. 
 
 IV. CONSCIOUSNESS A FORM OF ENERGY .... 10.3 
 
 By Wm. Pepperrell Montague. 
 
 V. PERCEPTION AND EPISTEMOLOGY 135 
 
 By Frederick J. E. Woodbridge. 
 
 VI. SUBSTITUTIONALISM 167 
 
 By C. A. Strong. 
 
 VII. WORLD-PICTURES 193 
 
 By Walter Boughton Pitkin. 
 
 VIII. NAIVE REALISM ; WHAT IS IT ? -231 
 
 By Dickinson S. Miller. 
 
 IX. KANT AND THE ENGLISH PLATONISTS . . . . 263 
 
 By Arthur O. Lovejoy. 
 
 X. A CRITIQUE OF KANT'S ETHICS 303 
 
 By Felix Adler. 
 
 XI. THE ABUSE OF ABSTRACTION IN ETHICS . . 367 
 
 By Herbert Gardinki: Lord. 
 
 XII. PURPOSIVE CONSISTENCY, THE OUTLINE OF A 
 
 CLASSIFICATION OF VALUES 395 
 
 By G. A. Tawney. 
 
 XIII. THE PROBLEM OF METHOD IN MATHEMATICS 
 
 AND PHILOSOPHY 425 
 
 By Harold Chapman Brown.
 
 viii CONTENTS 
 
 PSYCHOLOGICAL ESSAYS 
 
 Page 
 
 I. PRAGMATISM IN AESTHETICS 459 
 
 By Kate Gordon. 
 
 II. THE CONSCIOUSNESS OF RELATION 483 
 
 By R. S. WooDWORTH. 
 
 III. ON THE VARIABILITY OF INDIVIDUAL JUDG- 
 
 MENT 509 
 
 By Frederic Lyman Wells, 
 
 IV. THE VALIDITY OF JUDGMENTS OF CHARACTER 551 
 
 By Naomi Norsworthy. 
 
 V. REACTIONS AND PERCEPTIONS 569 
 
 By James McKeen Cattell. 
 
 VI. A PRAGMATIC SUBSTITUTE FOR FREE WILL . 585 
 By Edward L. Thorndike. 
 
 Note. With the group of contributors, members of the 
 Department of Philosophy and of Psychology early in 1907, 
 is associated another ivho joined the former Department 
 subsequently. Three of them have since ivithdraivn from 
 Columbia University, tivo to other institutions.
 
 THE NEW REALISM
 
 ESSAYS PHILOSOPHICAL 
 AND PSYCHOLOGICAL 
 
 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 By George Stuart Fullerton 
 
 1 BEG that it may be understood that no 
 question- begging is intended in my title. A 
 philosophical doctrine is not necessarily worthy 
 of acceptance because it is new. It is foolish 
 to argue that, because a philosophy happens to 
 be the current one, it is deserving of respect; just 
 as it is foolish to argue that, because certain 
 beliefs are discovered to have an affinity with the 
 beliefs current in some by-gone age, therefore 
 they must be antiquated and worthy of rejection. 
 There is no philosophy accepted in our time which 
 has not its roots in the past, and we may always 
 obtain a cheap triumph over its adherents by taunt- 
 ing them with the date at which their ancestors 
 thought that they saw the light. But this is a 
 cheap triumph, indeed, and one which we may 
 all enjoy in our turn. Only he whose reading and 
 reflection have been limited will look upon it as 
 worth enjoying. 
 
 There are indications that a number of thinkers 
 at the present time are turning their attention to
 
 4 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 some form of realism — that they have weighed 
 idealism in the balance and have found it wanting. 
 The tendency is, I believe, a growing one, and a 
 number of the leaders of philosophic thought have 
 been drawn into the current. This is, in itself, no 
 reason for assuming that realism is true. In phi- 
 losophy it is not the same thing to be in the right 
 and to be in the fashion, as I have said above. 
 
 Nevertheless, the fact seems to make a discussion 
 of the comparative merits of idealism and realism 
 the more opportune and the more likely to be of 
 general interest. And it sets one to thinking anew 
 of the great role which realism has played in the 
 past. Not realism in the mediaeval sense of the 
 word, but realism as the modern man understands 
 it; the realism which accepts an external physical 
 world distinct from anyone's ideas, the realism 
 which is in sympathy with the thought of the mass 
 of mankind, the realism which has always been 
 tacitly accepted, I think, by science, ever since 
 there was such a thing as science. We are apt to 
 forget that for very many centuries the world was 
 realistic in its thinking, even those whom we some- 
 times refer to as idealistic philosophers having little 
 in common with those whom we now call idealists 
 — with the men who maintain that there is no ex- 
 istence save psychic existence, and who resolve 
 " things " into the perceptions or ideas of some mind. 
 
 To this new fashion in thinking it was Descartes 
 who led the way, without seeing what lay at the
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 5 
 
 end of his path. He reasoned much as men do 
 now about the function of the bodily senses in 
 bringing us to a knowledge of things ; he shut the 
 mind up to ideas for all its immediate knowledge, 
 and made ideas merely representative of things not 
 themselves directly perceived; he thus placed the 
 world at one remove, and, for his successors, lost 
 the world. Not at once, for old habits of thought 
 persisted, in spite of logic. A world was assumed, 
 even when every connection was cut between it and 
 the knowing mind. But it is hard to go on believing 
 in things when there is clearly no reason at all for 
 so doing. Descartes was the logical forerunner of 
 Berkeley; and in the fulness of time the latter 
 appeared, and in his train the whole tribe of those 
 to whom that self-assertive, that persistent, that 
 seemingly not to be ignored fact, the physical world, 
 became sublimated into a mental thing, or a semi- 
 mental thing, or, at any rate, a thing unlike what 
 mankind had supposed it to be before the advent 
 of the new doctrine. 
 
 Yet the defection from the old doctrine was not, 
 even when the new one was at the height of its 
 popularity, by any means universal. Those who 
 have held to the pre- Cartesian philosophy, and 
 they have been many, have never bowed down at 
 the new shrine. Doubtless many of them have 
 kept true to their first love out of sheer inertia, as 
 does the traditional Hollander, despising the fickle 
 Italian for his love of change. But to others we may
 
 6 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 attribute higher motives. And from other quarters 
 protests have been raised, notably from the Scottish 
 philosophers, men of robust good sense, but not 
 always metaphysicians, and sometimes incapable 
 of seeing what the acute idealist may say in his own 
 justification. Moreover, in quiet corners, espe- 
 cially in England and in America, men not directly 
 influenced by Scholasticism have quietly gone on 
 teaching a realistic doctrine in spite of what 
 seemed the dominant note in the philosophy of 
 the time. Furthermore, the man who was not a 
 philosopher, whether he happened to belong among 
 the learned or the unlearned, always believed, as 
 hinted above, in an external world other than the 
 world of ideas, and in his blundering way con- 
 demned the ideahst. With him has stood the man 
 of science, who, whatever he may have said when 
 he attempted to philosophize, consistently has 
 treated physical phenomena in one way and 
 mental phenomena in another. This is a significant 
 distinction, and one not to be conjured out of 
 existence by a mere distribution of titles, by vaguely 
 marked distinctions drawn between philosophy 
 and science, or by the obscurity induced by the 
 cumbersome and highly technical set of phrases, 
 to my mind of doubtful importance, which the 
 idealists from and including Kant have seen fit 
 to call into being. 
 
 The pendulum now shows unmistakable signs of 
 swinging toward realism. It ought to be under-
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 7 
 
 stood that tliis is not an aberration — a phenom- 
 enon to be regarded with concern. It is swinging 
 in the direction of the spontaneous thought of 
 mankind, of the beHef of the ages. Man is natu- 
 rally a realist, though it is undoubtedly true that 
 the uninstructed man is a rather stupid realist. 
 To make of him a reflective and reasonable realist, 
 some natural ability on his part is prerequisite, as 
 is also some labor on the part of his instructor. 
 But, on the other hand, it requires no little effort 
 to turn men into idealists. The doctrine is by no 
 means so satisfactory or so self-evident as it seems 
 to be to those who have become thoroughly in- 
 doctrinated, to whom certain words and phrases 
 have grown to be the most natural expression of 
 their thought and in need of no analysis, who are 
 habituated to an uncomfortable chair, and who no 
 longer find it uncomfortable. 
 
 But let them think themselves back to the time 
 of their first introduction to philosophy. Did 
 idealism seem natural and reasonable then ? Even 
 the glamour cast by the name — a glamour which 
 has had much to do, I think, with the popularity 
 of the doctrine, can scarcely reconcile a beginner 
 to what seems so little in harmony with good 
 sense and common experience. In so far as any 
 system of reflective thought can be called natural, 
 it is realism that is natural, not idealism. 
 
 It may be said that, in touching upon certain 
 of the facts brought forward above, I am employ-
 
 8 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 ing something like an argumentum ad populum. 
 I hope it will be understood that, in so far as I do 
 this, I address only those who make use of a 
 similar argument in favor of idealism. This was 
 shamelessly done by that lovable creature Berkeley, 
 and it has been done repeatedly since. Idealism 
 has been confused with what is ideal, and the appeal 
 has been to the emotions and aspirations of men — 
 an appeal made, of course, in good faith, but a 
 mistaken appeal, for there are all sorts of idealism 
 and all sorts of realism, and either form of doctrine 
 may be inspiring or the reverse. After all, for the 
 philosopher, qua philosopher, the question is : 
 What is the truest account that reflective thought 
 can give of the world in which we find ourselves ? 
 Whether this world is one that pleases us or does 
 not please us is a thing to discuss after we have 
 found out what it really is. 
 
 In what follows, I shall not rest my case upon 
 an appeal to the authority of great names, whether 
 of the dead or of the living. Nor shall I try to 
 show that realism is a doctrine that ought to attract 
 the pious man or the canny fellow who wants to 
 be on the safe side. I shall not talk of the fashions, 
 nor be contemptuous of those whose sleeves have 
 not the latest cut. I wish to discuss the subject 
 on its own merits : Why should a man, influenced 
 by none other than intellectual considerations, 
 become a realist, and what sort of a realist should 
 he become?
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 9 
 
 And, in pursuance of this aim, I shall, first, 
 bring forward what seem to me the deficiencies of 
 idealism as a philosophical doctrine; then, I shall 
 try to show how it happens that men of acute 
 mind have been, and are, misled into embracing 
 it ; finally, I shall endeavor to indicate what ought 
 to be recognized by the man who, in our day, would 
 be a realist. This means, to my mind, that he 
 must not be forgetful of his debt to the idealists, 
 men who have seen a certain truth, even if they 
 have somewhat misconceived it. The limits of 
 this paper compel me to brevity, but such a resume 
 as is here possible may not be without its usefulness. 
 
 The Deficiencies of Idealism 
 
 It can scarcely be regarded as without signifi- 
 cance that men generally find themselves com- 
 pelled to distinguish constantly between ideas and 
 "things," and to mark the distinction by using 
 different expressions when they are referring to the 
 one or to the other. Every man w^ould regard it as 
 absurd to talk of a dream image confined within 
 the walls of a real material bottle, of an imagined 
 knife lying upon a real table, of his neighbor's 
 percept — assuming him to know what is meant 
 by the w^ord percept — transfixed and held up to 
 view on the point of a fork. 
 
 Nor would he find these forms of expression
 
 10 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 repellent merely because they are unusual. The 
 objection to them is that they stand for ways of 
 treating certain things in his experience which he, 
 in actual practice, repudiates. However dim his 
 distinction between the mental and the material, 
 however incapable he may be of accurately defin- 
 ing things, he has all his life distinguished between 
 the physical and the mental, and the expressions 
 which he spontaneously uses fairly represent this 
 universal and apparently unavoidable distinction. 
 
 And it cannot be regarded as without significance 
 that this distinction is just as unmistakably rec- 
 ognized by science. There are certain sciences 
 which describe things in space and in time without 
 making the least reference to the mental. It might 
 be claimed by the superficial observer that they 
 take no note of the distinction. But let anyone 
 pass for a moment from the physical to the 
 psychical, and unwarrantably introduce into the 
 material world what properly belongs to a different 
 sphere, and the scientist would be up in arms at 
 once. His real metre is not what seems a metre 
 to this man or to that; his real half-hour is not 
 the interminable time which seems to have elapsed 
 while the weary listener waited for a tiresome 
 paper to be read to its close. He wants no sub- 
 jective ghosts let loose in his world of objective 
 realities, and when he suspects the presence of 
 such, he is restive in the extreme. 
 
 It may be the direct aim of a science to busy
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON U 
 
 itself only with changes in the external world, 
 and yet it may be compelled incidentally to rec- 
 ognize mental phenomena. Thus, in astronomy, 
 we take into consideration the personal equation, 
 consciously distinguishing between an occurrence 
 in the outer world and the perception of that oc- 
 currence. On the other hand one science, psy- 
 chology, deliberately aims to describe what is 
 carefully distinguished from the physical ; and the 
 kindred disciplines of ethics and sociology base 
 themselves upon similar ground. Imagine the 
 feelings of the psychologist who would be asked 
 to treat the mental phenomena, with which he 
 occupies himself, precisely as he and others are 
 ready to treat physical phenomena ! Neither in 
 the laboratory nor out of it would he have the 
 faintest idea how to undertake such a task. 
 
 Thus, he who declares all phenomena to be 
 mental repudiates the actual knowledge of the 
 world which both the unlearned and the learned 
 seem to have. He repudiates a distinction which 
 is imbedded in the very structure of human ex- 
 perience. He w^ould introduce confusion into the 
 sciences, if the sciences paid any attention to him, 
 which they do not. Science quietly goes its own 
 way and gives an account of the world of matter 
 and mind as it is revealed to us, or as it is guessed 
 at from indications which are revealed. The man 
 of science who also chooses to be an idealistic 
 philosopher is compelled, as we may see if we will
 
 12 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 but watch him at his work, to keep his science 
 upon one dish and his philosophy upon another. 
 The latter does not grow out of the former, and 
 it does not conduce to a better understanding of 
 the former. It is irreconcilable with it, and must 
 be kept apart. This appears to have been realized 
 with some clearness by those idealists who have 
 maintained that the realities of science are, after 
 all, but unreal appearances, fitted to command 
 the respect of those only who have not yet at- 
 tained to the beatific vision reserved for the eye 
 of the philosopher. 
 
 I do not ask anyone to accept a non-mental, 
 material world merely on the ground that such a 
 world is accepted unhesitatingly both in common 
 thought and in science. Nevertheless, I must con- 
 fess that I think that he is a courageous man, an 
 unduly courageous man, who hastily throws it 
 over, merely because he is perplexed to know how 
 to give a good account of it. And when one re- 
 flects that it has been denied, after all, by a mere 
 handful of men, men brought up in and inoculated 
 with the same tradition, men some of whom have 
 been betrayed into extravagances with which even 
 their confreres could feel little sympathy, and, 
 moreover, men struggling with the difl&culties of 
 reflective thought, working in a region in which 
 all results ought to be held tentatively and with 
 some diffidence — when one reflects upon all this, 
 the denial seems the more rash. Of course, the
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 13 
 
 few may, on general principles, be admitted to 
 be possibly in the right ; but the assertion that they 
 are in the right ought to be made, if at all, with a 
 good deal of caution. I hardly think it can be 
 called an appeal to autliority to ask that one bear 
 this warning in mind, when one is brought face 
 to face with what seems to be a rather startling 
 philosophical doctrine. 
 
 But, to come directly to the question itself, what 
 can be said against idealism ? what are the short- 
 comings of the doctrine ? 
 
 In answering this question, I think we should 
 begin by pointing out that we do not find ourselves 
 in a chaos of experiences. We seem to be in an 
 orderly world, in which the succession of phenom- 
 ena is such that it does not appear to be absurd 
 to speak of "the laws of nature." We recognize 
 phenomena as distributed in space and in time; 
 there is such a thing as history. 
 
 It is not nonsense to ask where something hap- 
 pened, and when it happened. We turn to a sys- 
 tem, an order, and it is evidently not an arbitrarily 
 constructed system; we try to find the place and 
 the time of some occurrence in question. Any 
 place and any time will not do; sometimes we 
 discover that we have been mistaken, and then 
 we make a correction. 
 
 Now, it is not every succession of experiences 
 which we have that we call, or have a right to call, 
 a series of phenomena in that order by means of
 
 14 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 which we date occurrences, or fix the positions, 
 distances, and magnitudes of things. We can and 
 do distinguish perfectly well between subjective 
 changes and objective changes. 
 
 It may be said that Berkeley, the idealist, rec- 
 ognized in his fashion this same distinction, and 
 expressly referred to the laws of nature, describ- 
 ing them as the orderly ways in which a Divine 
 Spirit arouses ideas in us. But is this account of 
 the matter adequate ? Does it properly mark the 
 distinction between the subjective and the objec- 
 tive ? It is true that we may have a direct expe- 
 rience of objective changes. We may, with the re- 
 lation of our sense-organs to the object unchanged, 
 observe changes taking place in things — we may 
 watch the swelling of a soap-bubble or note the 
 motion of the second-hand of a watch — but the 
 matter is not always so simple. We are constantly 
 changing the position of our body with regard to 
 things ; we open and shut our eyes, thus having 
 experience of things and losing it altogether. And, 
 from a long experience, we have all, whether ideal- 
 ists or realists or not philosophers at all, learned 
 to distinguish between mere changes in sensations 
 and changes in things, between the subjective and 
 the objective. Often the distinction is one suffi- 
 ciently easy to draw ; sometimes we may be puzzled 
 to know what the objective order really is. But 
 in no case is it a fair statement of the matter to 
 suggest that the objective order is simply spread
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 15 
 
 out before our gaze, and taken up by us without 
 the labor of discrimination and selection. We 
 are compelled to find out what it is as a whole ; 
 comparatively little is given us directly. 
 
 It is to a knowledge of this order of phenomena 
 that physical science endeavors to attain. It is 
 position in this order that we try" to determine when 
 we ask regarding the place and time of anything. 
 All our measurements come back to this. When 
 we ask how big an object is, we do not mean to 
 determine how big it looks to this man or that, 
 under these circumstances or under those. We 
 refer to its size relatively to other things in the 
 physical order. And when we ask when some- 
 thing happened, we always refer to this same order. 
 How shall we measure the time which has elapsed 
 since Columbus discovered America ? by physi- 
 cal changes ; by revolutions of the sun. How 
 shall I measure the time which has elapsed since 
 I sat down at this desk to write ? by looking at 
 the clock before me. In certain cases we may be 
 reduced to the poor expedient of falling back upon 
 subjective time — we may be forced to guess how 
 long a time has elapsed by estimating how long 
 the time has seemed. But even here our ultimate 
 reference is to the objective standard. We have 
 had experience of the fact that such seemings may 
 indicate with approximate correctness the hours 
 and half hours marked by the clock. It is because 
 of this that our makeshift is of any service.
 
 16 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 Our ultimate standard of reference is, then, to 
 the physical world-order; an order of experience, 
 but one not to be confounded with what is sub- 
 jective. Our where and our when, our how great 
 and our how small, our before and our after, our 
 together and our apart, all come back to this. 
 This is the very vertebral column of the organism 
 of experience. It serves to order all phenomena. 
 Reflection makes it evident that we make use of 
 it in the ordering of mental phenomena as well 
 as in the ordering of physical 
 
 We do not hesitate to speak of mental phenom- 
 ena as coming into existence at this definite time 
 or at that. We never think of anyone as having 
 a thought at no time and in no definite relation 
 to the rest of the system of things. When did 
 Caesar's body cross the Rubicon.^ We measure 
 the time which elapsed between that and any other 
 physical event by a reference to the series of physi- 
 cal changes separating the two. When did Csesar 
 decide to cross ? Surely, we say, during his life- 
 time — on the day of, or on some day preceding, 
 the crossing. The psychologist goes so far as to 
 say: When a certain physical change, of which 
 we at present know little, took place in the man's 
 brain. 
 
 I shall not here dwell upon the peculiar char- 
 acter of the relation between the decision and the 
 brain-event in question. What the relation is, can, 
 I believe, be made reasonably clear, and I have
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 17 
 
 elsewhere essayed the task.^ That which I am 
 here concerned to point out is, that we never at- 
 tempt to date any mental occurrence save in the 
 one way. Without the physical order we are 
 wholly at sea. When did Othello find out that 
 he had grounds for jealousy ? When will Brown 
 make up his mind that it is not wise to speculate 
 in stocks ? When did I have that rosy dream that 
 I had inherited a fortune ? Is there no sense in 
 asking when.^ Men do date mental occurrences. 
 It is done universally. And it is always done in 
 the same way — some point is selected in the suc- 
 cession of physical changes which constitute the 
 objective order, and the mental occurrence in 
 question is referred to that. 
 
 Moreover, we all distinguish between the minds 
 of Smith, of Jones, and of Robinson. Should the 
 three men, by any chance, happen to have pre- 
 cisely similar sensations, we could never conclude 
 that we were concerned with but the one group 
 of sensations. W^e have to do with three groups ; 
 the sensations of one man may undergo great 
 change; he may turn and walk away from the 
 object at which he has been looking; the other 
 men may stand still and continue to look at the 
 object. Whether the sensations of two men are 
 conceived to be similar or not, our recognition of 
 a plurality of experiences is the same. It is enough 
 for us, that, in the one case, sensations are referred 
 
 * " Introduction to Philosophy," New York, 1906, chapter ix.
 
 18 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 to the one body, and, in the other case, are re- 
 ferred to another body. 
 
 Suppose that I am asked to beheve in a fourth 
 group of sensations, and, when I ask to what body 
 I am to refer them, I am told that they are to be 
 referred to no body. They are not to be con- 
 ceived as the sensations of this man or of that 
 man. They are not the sensations of anyone 
 who has been, is, or shall be anywhere. Can I 
 believe in such a group ? Never ! I can undoubt- 
 edly imagine groups of sensations, or, at any rate, 
 of experiences which, if referred to a body, I 
 should call sensations. But I cannot believe in 
 them as real, so long as they are cut off wholly 
 from the real world of things. They are ab- 
 stractions, mere imaginings. To talk of them as 
 existing is nonsense, unless I mean to indicate 
 by the word only that certain things have a place 
 in my thought, and are actually imagined. 
 
 Now, suppose that I attempt to be thoroughly 
 idealistic; suppose that I ignore the objective 
 order, as such, and try to order my world solely 
 with reference to ideas properly so called. 
 
 Where is the room, or the experience of the 
 room, in which I seem to be sitting ? Is it be- 
 tween the idea of a hall and the idea of a garden ? 
 Is there another side to this desk? I am im- 
 agining another side, it is true; but is there any- 
 thing that may be called a space-relation between 
 a percept and a memory- image, as such ? Does
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 19 
 
 the other side exist now? or is it a mere poten- 
 tiahty ? Is it in harmony with what we know of 
 desks to say that they are made up of percepts 
 and memory- images ? 
 
 I wake from sleep, and, looking at my watch, 
 observe that its hands are not in the position in 
 which they were when I last observed it. May 
 I say that I have slept eight hours ? Has time 
 elapsed ? So far as my immediate experience 
 goes, nothing has elapsed. If I have slept soundly, 
 there has been nothing at all between the two ex- 
 periences in question. How shall I date my wak- 
 ing.? Not by referring it to a position among my 
 sensations or ideas. Did anything happen while 
 I slept .'^ Surely. But when did it happen.? Its 
 happening cannot be given a place among my 
 past sensations or ideas. It does not seem more 
 sensible to give it a date in what is present to my 
 imagination after I awake. Such dates we reserve 
 for my thoughts about what happened. 
 
 Again. I believe that other men live now, and 
 that men lived and died before I was born. I 
 shall not here try to prove the existence of other 
 minds, but shall accept it, as the world, unlettered 
 and lettered, unreflective and philosophic, ideal- 
 istic and realistic, has accepted and does accept 
 it. I shall ask only, how are we forced to speak 
 of these minds if we really ignore the external 
 world, the physical system of things in space and 
 time, the objective order of experience ?
 
 20 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 We have seen above that it is nonsense to talk 
 of a particular mind which is not particularized 
 by reference to some particular body. May I 
 say that the mind of the Mayor of Philadelphia 
 is to be distinguished from the mind of the Mayor 
 of New York by the fact that the one is referred 
 to a given group of my ideas, and the other to 
 another group ? What is the relation of these two 
 minds to each other when I am not thinking about 
 either of these oflScials ? Do they have real bodies 
 when I am experiencing what Berkeley calls 
 "ideas of sense," and only imaginary bodies when 
 I am experiencing "ideas of imagination"? If 
 we consistently refuse to make any distinction 
 between things and our percepts or images of 
 things, it is not easy to see how we are to escape 
 out of this tangle of absurdities. 
 
 Furthermore, we all accept the fact that the mind 
 of Francis Bacon came into existence at an earlier 
 date than that of Berkeley. How far apart shall 
 we place the two dates ? Surely, I have no satis- 
 factory scheme of arrangement, if I refer Bacon's 
 mind to my idea of Bacon's body and Berkeley's 
 mind to my idea of Berkeley's body. What are 
 the dates of my ideas ? They have themselves 
 no dates, in any proper sense of the word, if there 
 is no objective order of things distinguishable 
 from ideas. Besides, Bacon and Berkeley lived 
 and died before I had any ideas at all, unless his- 
 tory is to be utterly repudiated.
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 21 
 
 It may be maintained that the idealist is not 
 forced to be so complete a subjectivist, pinning 
 his faith to a world into which nothing is admitted 
 save the collections of phenomena which consti- 
 tute finite minds. He may accept a Divine Mind, 
 as did Berkeley, or an Absolute, as have done 
 various other philosophers, and may use it as 
 some sort of a cement to unite the little worlds of 
 finite individual experience which seem in danger of 
 falling into mere chaos unless ordered and related 
 by something distinguishable from themselves. 
 
 But readers of Berkeley will remember that he 
 gives no indication how a Divine Mind is to be 
 regarded as ordering the experiences of finite 
 minds. He furnishes us with no world-order 
 save that which slips in involuntarily in his recog- 
 nition of the laws of nature, in his half-grasped 
 distinction between ideas of sense and ideas of 
 other classes. In other words, he does not help 
 us except in those moments in which he is in dan- 
 ger of passing over to realism and of admitting 
 an objective order, one not to be confused with 
 what is mental. As for the Absolute, or rather 
 the Absolutes, for they have been many, it remains 
 to inquire how such can serve our purpose. 
 
 Manifestly, an Absolute that is degraded to 
 the rank of a mere Unknowable can play no part 
 whatever in ordering phenomena. I perceive this 
 desk here; I believe that there is a front- door to 
 this house. What is the relation between the two ?
 
 22 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 Is one at one point in the Unknowable, and the 
 other at another ? I have a percept at the present 
 moment; I beUeve that Cato had a percept at 
 some time in the past. Is this time which makes 
 me regard my percept and his as not simultaneous 
 measured by a reference to the Unknowable? 
 No man living, unlearned or learned, fixes events 
 in his life by assigning to them dates in the Un- 
 knowable, nor does he determine the location 
 of objects or their distances from one another by 
 having recourse to the same useless nonentity. 
 
 One may argue that the idealist who accepts 
 an Absolute does not make of it a mere Unknow- 
 able. Yet, so far as the part which it plays in 
 ordering anything or accounting for anything 
 goes, the Bradleyan Absolute, at least, seems 
 quite as useless. We are informed that all exist- 
 ence is psychic existence ; it is assumed that there 
 is a multitude of finite minds or centres of expe- 
 rience; the "Reality" of these finite minds is 
 called the Absolute. But it should be observed 
 that in this Absolute there is no distinction of 
 space or time, quantity or quality, or, indeed, of 
 anything that means anything. Phenomena are 
 not ordered or distinguished from one another by 
 reference to it. No account of anything is rendered 
 more intelligible by bringing it in. What is the 
 relation between successive presentations in my 
 mind, or between presentations in my mind and 
 those in another?
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 23 
 
 No answer to such questions can even be at- 
 tempted upon the basis proposed. The real world, 
 both of common life and of science, is simply 
 abandoned. Have I now a percept, and did Cato 
 have one at some time in the past ? this is mere 
 appearance — in Reality there is no time, and, of 
 course, no way of measuring time. How may I 
 distinguish Cato's percept from mine, or, indeed, 
 his centre of experience from my own ? In Reality 
 there is no distinction. It is puzzling to know 
 why the man who wishes to extend or to clarify 
 his knowledge should concern himself with this 
 psychic Unknowable at all. 
 
 But may not the idealist accept an Absolute 
 that is really of some significance for knowledge ? 
 May he not accept a mind which can, in some 
 intelligible sense, serve as a bond of connection, 
 a basis of orderly arrangement, for phenomena ? 
 
 What is to prevent one from putting such a 
 mind in place of the external world in which most 
 of us believe ? Why not maintain that the external 
 world, as directly revealed to each of us, is a por- 
 tion of such a mind ? that finite minds are to be 
 regarded either as parts of this inclusive mind, 
 or as related to various bits of it in some way that 
 may fix their relations to each other ? 
 
 In other words, may one treat an Absolute 
 Mind as science and common sense treat the physi- 
 cal world in space and time, relating this occur- 
 rence and that in the order which it furnishes.
 
 24 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 referring this mind and that to different bodies 
 in it, and thus fixing the relations of phenomena of 
 all sorts in the universe ? 
 
 To this I think we have to answer: It is an 
 abuse of the word "mind" to apply it to this 
 system of phenomena. The words "physical" 
 and "mental" are not to be used at random. 
 They have a different connotation. If there is 
 one philosophical truth which seems to have met 
 with general acceptance rather than most others, 
 it is that, in some sense of the words, we have 
 objects in the external world in common^ but are 
 the private proprietors of the mental phenomena 
 which we may experience. Just what this "in 
 common" means, I shall not here inquire; but 
 it does mark a well-recognized distinction between 
 the physical and the mental. We perceive trees 
 and houses ; we infer our neighbor's sensations 
 and ideas. 
 
 There is, to be sure, a school of thought which 
 maintains that we know other minds directly, 
 and are not shut up to the well-known argument 
 from analogy. But this doctrine sounds plausible 
 only so long as it confines itself to vague phrases 
 such as : " consciousness is social from the be- 
 ginning," etc. ; it breaks down just as soon as 
 one grows explicit. In common life it is as- 
 sumed that we infer the thoughts and feelings of 
 other men and of the brutes from indications 
 gathered from their bodily expressions. In psy-
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 25 
 
 chology it would be regarded as absurd to main- 
 tain that we may introspectively scrutinize the 
 consciousness of another as we do scrutinize our 
 own. The great majority of philosophers have 
 accepted this truth frankly; and, as I have indi- 
 cated above, those who have not done so show, 
 when they condescend to particulars and grow 
 definite, that they are forced to acknowledge the 
 truth as w^ell. I perceive the things that my 
 neighbor sees and touches ; his percepts of those 
 things I do not perceive; I merely infer them. 
 
 This peculiarity of the mental, the fact that it 
 is the property of a given consciousness and is 
 not directly revealed to another, we have no right 
 to deny to an Absolute Mind, if we really are talk- 
 ing about a mind, and have not introduced con- 
 fusion and desolation with the introduction of 
 that unhappy word "absolute." I do not directly 
 perceive the sensations and ideas of the brute; 
 I do not directly perceive those of my fellow-men; 
 there is no reason for maintaining that I directly 
 perceive the mental experiences of any other 
 being, however sublime. 
 
 But we do have, as has been pointed out, cer- 
 tain direct experiences which we can recognize 
 as those of an objective order of experience, and 
 can distinguish from subjective changes which 
 are taking place in ourselves. I can watch a soap- 
 bubble grow; I can walk toward one which I 
 recognize as remaining of the same size, and can
 
 26 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 have a whole series of experiences which are ad- 
 mitted by everybody to be series of changing 
 percepts, and not indicative of change in the 
 object. I can destroy a soap-bubble; I can cause 
 it to disappear by closing my eyes. Neither in 
 science nor in common life do we confuse such 
 things. In the one case, we recognize that we 
 have to do with the physical; in the other, that 
 we are concerned with the mental. 
 
 What right has the philosopher to rub out this 
 distinction ? He has no right. The idealistic 
 philosospher who maintains that the objective 
 order which we are all forced to accept, and of 
 which science attempts to give us an exact account, 
 is an Absolute Mind, has simply recognized the 
 external world and has given it the wrong name. 
 In giving it the wrong name, he may easily be 
 seduced into assigning to it attributes which can 
 properly be assigned only to minds. He may 
 speak of it as good, as blessed, as perfect, etc. 
 When one perceives clearly what one is doing, it 
 is not difficult to see that all this is illegitimate. 
 It is not sensible to say that the external world is 
 happy or is good, just as it is not sensible to say 
 that a percept is in a drawer, that a dream-image 
 is a foot long, or that one's memories of leaden 
 images have a high specific gravity. 
 
 Such considerations as the foregoing lead me 
 to the conviction that I am not wrong in drawing 
 a sharp distinction between the physical and the
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 27 
 
 mental, and in refusing to obliterate that dis- 
 tinction even out of courtesy to an Absolute. We 
 do live in a World. Even in common life we meas- 
 ure things in space, we date events in time, we 
 talk of other minds than our own and refer them 
 to given bodies. A body that exists nowhere and 
 at no time does not exist; a mind which can be 
 referred to nothing means for us only an imagined 
 mind. Science accepts this, and differs from com- 
 mon thought only in being more complete and 
 exact. In other words, we find ourselves in a 
 system of experiences ; and reflection reveals to 
 us that our system would be no system were the 
 physical really left out. 
 
 Why, then, do men find themselves tempted to 
 be idealists and to ignore the physical as such ? 
 There is certainly some plausible reason, or so 
 many acute minds would not have been impelled 
 to tread a path which leads to conclusions seem- 
 ingly in so little accord with common experience 
 and with good sense. 
 
 II 
 
 Why Men become Idealists 
 
 I have referred earlier in this paper to the verbal 
 confusion and to the emotional influences which 
 may lead some men to embrace idealism. It is not 
 necessary to dwell upon such things here. Men 
 of keen mind are not, as a rule, a slave to the
 
 28 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 associations which attach to words. I have known 
 only one foreigner who became an iVmerican 
 democrat because of the etymology of the word. 
 And earnest men who are seeking the truth ought 
 to keep their emotions in check, and not sacrifice 
 their logic upon the altar of their desires. 
 
 I am now concerned only with those who are 
 willing to embrace a philosophical doctrine for 
 no other reason than that it seems to be a reason- 
 able one, or at any rate, a more reasonable one 
 than any rival doctrine presented for their con- 
 sideration. I suppose that what chiefly influences 
 such men to become idealists is that they have a 
 vivid realization of the fact that there is no sense 
 in talking about the external world except as we 
 know something about it, and that we cannot 
 know anything about it unless we have sensations. 
 
 This is a truth which does not seem to have been 
 suflSciently vivid to the realists of a past age — to 
 the realists who held the ground before idealism 
 became the fashion — though one can find pas- 
 sages enough in their works that bring the truth 
 clearly before the mind of the man who has passed 
 through the schools of the idealists. From a very 
 early time men distinguished between things and 
 the sensations that they arouse in us ; and, not 
 infrequently, men even dwelt upon the possible 
 discrepancy between things as they are and things 
 as they seem to present themselves to our senses. 
 
 To the Cartesian, the distinction between things
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 29 
 
 and our knowledge of them was sharpened, as the 
 body, and the processes which result in perception, 
 became more definitely known. It came to be 
 realized that something must take place in the 
 brain, if a man is to have a sensation. It was ac- 
 cepted that all sorts of things may go on in the 
 outer world, and even in the human body, the 
 man remaining, so long as they are not reported 
 at the little central office, in ignorance of them. 
 From this it seems but a short step to the con- 
 clusion that we have no immediate knowledge 
 of anything but images, representatives of things; 
 that we are directly conscious of mental phenomena 
 only, and must depend for all our knowledge of the 
 physical upon some inference for which a justifi- 
 cation may not unreasonably be demanded. One 
 is moved to assert that our life is passed among 
 images ; that they, at least, are certain and indu- 
 bitable, but that what lies beyond them is some- 
 tliing in which we may believe or disbelieve — is 
 legitimate matter for theoretic doubt. 
 
 This conclusion is new as well as old; it is, in 
 some quarters, very much in the fashion to-day. 
 Moreover, following the old round, the possibility 
 of doubt first ripens into doubt, and then rots into 
 denial. We are informed that we are shut up for 
 all our knowledge to sensations and to memories 
 of sensations, since we can know only the messages 
 conducted along the nerves to the brain. Then 
 we are told that we have no legitimate reason for
 
 30 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 even trying to penetrate the darkness which, like 
 a wall, shuts in our sensations. Sensations and 
 their copies are declared to be the property of 
 science; this is land that can be enclosed and 
 cultivated in some rational way. What lies in the 
 meaningless beyond is generously bestowed upon 
 that misguided collector of ciphers, the meta- 
 physician, the poor rich man, whose wealth is 
 purely imaginary. The doctrine has recently 
 elicited some applause. 
 
 I shall not dwell upon the untenability of this 
 doctrine — upon its getting sensations by invoking 
 the aid of the body, and then denying that there is 
 a body; upon its using the word "sensation" to 
 mark a distinction, and then repudiating the 
 foundation upon which the distinction must be 
 based. That this house is divided against itself 
 must be evident to everyone who gives the matter 
 a little careful attention. 
 
 Nevertheless, untenable as the doctrine clearly 
 is, it is not equally clear that one may not say a 
 good deal in its behalf. One may be tempted to 
 maintain that, if ever a self- contradictory hypoth- 
 esis deserved a little respect, this one may make 
 a claim to kind treatment. When inspected in 
 itself it is seen to be a suspicious character; yet 
 what appear to be irreproachable witnesses may be 
 summoned to testify in its favor. 
 
 Thus, common sense recognizes that we can only 
 see things when our eyes are open and feel them
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 31 
 
 when we touch them with our bodies. The func- 
 tion of the senses in mediating a knowledge of 
 things is matter of every-day experience. The 
 psychologist describes for us in detail the process 
 by which we came to a knowledge of a world of 
 things, and he founds all our information about 
 the world ultimately upon impressions made 
 upon the periphery of the body and messages con- 
 ducted therefrom to the central nervous system. 
 It is a rash man that will condemn the whole pro- 
 cedure of the science of psychology. And yet, if 
 one accepts it, what then ? 
 
 If we leave such general considerations and come 
 back to the experience mentioned earlier in this 
 paper as one in which an objective order is revealed, 
 are we not in the same case ? I stand with open 
 eyes and watch the soap-bubble expand. Both 
 the plain man and the man of science would agree 
 with me in maintaining that something is happen- 
 ing in the physical world. But, after all, is there 
 a single experience in the w^iole series revealed to 
 me that may not properly be termed sensation ? 
 If I stood nearer or farther away, I should not see 
 just what I do see. If my eyes were closed, I should 
 not see anything at all. 
 
 Moreover, I may reflect that, as our experiences 
 of things differ according to the relation of our 
 senses to them, so we have every reason to believe 
 that the experiences of different minds differ. 
 The color-blind man does not see what I see.
 
 32 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 The experience of the world, if we may call it 
 such, enjoyed by lower creatures in their descend- 
 ing series, probably varies more and more widely 
 from my own. What the world may seem like to 
 possible higher creatures, I may try to guess, but 
 I can be sure of little save that a difference must be 
 expected. Does it not seem true, then, that what 
 the world is perceived to be is a function of the 
 creature experiencing the world ? What more than 
 this is needed to make a man some sort of an ideal- 
 ist.^ For my part, I am tempted to believe that 
 the man who has never felt any leaning toward 
 idealism, notwithstanding the protest of science 
 and of common experience, has never seen very 
 deeply into the constitution of experience. There 
 appear to be so many external worlds, all unlike 
 each other, and each chained to the senses of 
 some perceiving creature. Where, in all this, is 
 the world? 
 
 Ill 
 
 The New Realism 
 
 There is a form of realism sometimes attacked by 
 the idealist, which it is not a difficult task to de- 
 molish, but which, in our day, scarcely seems to 
 have a claim upon powder and shot. He who 
 holds to an external world not revealed in our ex- 
 periences, but existing quite outside of and apart 
 from them, an external world to which no path
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 33 
 
 leads, and which cannot be described in any intel- 
 ligible terms, may be permitted to cherish his faith 
 in peace. As he cannot advance what may prop- 
 erly be called an argument, we are under no obli- 
 gation to meet him with what may properly be 
 called an answer. 
 
 To refute such a realism is not to refute realism. 
 The words "sensation" and "thing," "inner" 
 and "outer," must mark some significant dis- 
 tinction, if they are to be worth disputing about- 
 In the first part of this paper 1 have tried to show 
 that they do mark such a distinction, and that this 
 distinction is one universally recognized, although 
 it is recognized by a few inadvertently and reluc- 
 tantly. 
 
 In answer to the idealistic contention set forth a 
 little further back, namely, that there is no ex- 
 perience of the world where there is no sensation, 
 I advance, not a denial, but a complementary 
 statement. It is this : There is no sensation, that 
 can he recognized as such, where there is no ex- 
 perience oj the world. 
 
 What is a sensation ? The word is surely not one 
 to be used at random. No one thinks of employ- 
 ing it as a mere name for anything and everything. 
 When we imagine a tree or a house, we do not 
 admit that we are concerned with sensations. 
 How can we distinguish between sensations and 
 such experiences as these ? 
 
 But one answer to this question can be given. 
 
 3
 
 34 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 We find in experience an objective order of phe- 
 nomena. No one who has not senses finds it, of 
 course. The phenomena that stand in the objec- 
 tive order are revealed, i. e., they may be referred 
 to the senses of someone, and, in so far, they are his 
 perception of the objective order — the man is rec- 
 ognized as experiencing sensations. But, although 
 we constantly refer phenomena to our senses, this is 
 not our only way of treating them. We relate them 
 to each other directly, abstracting from the relation 
 to sense, and in so far we recognize them as having 
 their place in an objective order. As so considered 
 the phenomena in question are not sensations ; 
 they are qualities of things. That phenomena 
 may have this double relation is evident from the 
 fact that one set of sciences occupies itself with 
 them in the one relation, and another busies itself 
 with them as standing in the other. We can- 
 not repudiate all these sciences. A color merely 
 imagined or seen in a dream cannot be treated by 
 physical science as in any sense the property of a 
 thing; it cannot be regarded by psychology as a 
 sensation. 
 
 He who dwells upon sense-organs, nerves, and 
 messages, gives a meaning to the word sensation; 
 if he subsequently discards this physiological ap- 
 paratus, or sublimates it into a mere "projection," 
 he ought to discard with it all the meaning he has 
 gained, and ought, in justice, to abandon the use 
 of the word. If, by bad luck, he inconsistently
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 35 
 
 holds on to it, he becomes an idealist, a sub- 
 jectivist. 
 
 Any realism which claims a right to recognition 
 at the present day ought to recognize and to 
 incorporate within itself at least as much truth 
 as has been seen by the subjectivist, and all that 
 may reasonably be deduced from it. What should 
 such a realism admit ? That I shall endeavour to 
 set forth below. 
 
 1. First of all, the realist should frankly admit 
 that the only external world about which it can be 
 profitable to talk at all is an external world revealed 
 in experience. At the same time, it is of no little 
 importance to discover what one has, a right to 
 mean by this world revealed in experience. When 
 I say that I perceive a world, I do not mean merely 
 that I am aware of a given group or succession of 
 phenomena of a particular sort. The plain man, 
 the man of science, the philosopher, all recognize 
 the fact that I may speak of perceiving the same 
 tree, whether I perceive it from a distance or near 
 at hand, or whether I am made aware of it through 
 the sense of vision or the sense of touch. Even 
 the idealistic philosopher has dwelt upon this 
 truth — it was Berkeley who pointed out that we 
 speak with propriety when we say that we hear, 
 see, and touch the same coach, although our ex- 
 periences in hearing, seeing, and touching are not 
 identical. The tree is not to be confounded with 
 any one of the experiences that I have ; it may be
 
 36 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 revealed in any one. If our experiences are con- 
 nected in certain regular ways, as they are, a single 
 experience may represent an indefinitely large 
 group, and may give information regarding it. 
 
 It is, then, perfectly proper to distinguish 
 between an object in the outer world and any 
 given experience of that object. To draw this 
 distinction, one is in no wise compelled to go be- 
 yond experience, and to lose oneself in the region 
 of the unknown or the unknowable. It is only 
 necessary to realize what the constitution of 
 experience is. 
 
 2. When I arrive at a knowledge of other minds, 
 I know that they may not be having the same ex- 
 periences that I am having, and yet I say, without 
 being blamed for saying it, that they perceive the 
 same things. It is not an eccentricity for me to talk 
 thus. I am marking a truth that is generally rec- 
 ognized. The realist should frankly admit that 
 my experiences are not identical with those of my 
 neighbor, and even that they may be very widely 
 different from them. 
 
 But there is nothing in this to lead him to deny 
 that we both perceive the same tree, or to fall back 
 upon some unknowable and unexperienced tree 
 that no one perceives. He should analyze the situa- 
 tion, and try to discover what the use of the word 
 *'same" indicates in such a connection. It mani- 
 festly does not indicate that we are talking of 
 identical experiences. Everyone knows that they
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 37 
 
 are not identical. And yet, we are evidently talking 
 about something that is revealed in experience. 
 
 What has been said a little above may well be 
 borne in mind here. I have many different ex- 
 periences and yet say that I perceive the same tree ; 
 it is perfectly allowable to distinguish between 
 the one tree and any of the experiences as such. 
 Their differences may be dropped out of sight and 
 emphasis laid upon the function performed by 
 them all, upon the one set of relations in which they 
 all stand. Even so it is possible to abstract from 
 the differences which characterize the experiences 
 of two men, and to speak of the one tree which 
 both perceive. 
 
 With open eyes and standing at a given distance 
 from a tree, I perceive it ; I also perceive the body 
 of another man, its eyes being directed toward the 
 tree in question ; I infer that he has a perception, 
 as I have. I may stand nearer to the object or 
 further away ; he may stand nearer to it or at a 
 greater distance. Under such circumstances, I 
 must admit that my experiences will vary, and I 
 must believe that his will vary, too. But, if it is 
 legitimate for me to speak of the one tree notwith- 
 standing the variations in my own experiences, it 
 is legitimate for me to use the same words not- 
 withstanding the variations in his. The variations 
 can be set aside ; in fact, they are set aside, and it 
 is recognized that something in the objective order 
 of my experiences serves as a stepping-stone to the
 
 38 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 experiences of another. Thus we perceive the One 
 World. Science very properly treats it as one, 
 recognizing that the experiences of one man are 
 not cut off from those of another, but belong to the 
 same system with them. What has been dropped 
 out of view is taken up again when we turn to the 
 science of psychology, and ask how the world 
 appears to this individual or to that. 
 
 3. Finally, the realist should be quite as ready 
 as anyone else to admit that our knowledge of the 
 world grows and changes ; that we make mis- 
 takes and afterwards correct them; that many 
 things which we now believe to be true about the 
 world, we may later find out to be untrue, and 
 may have to replace with other knowledge. Is 
 such a position compatible with the doctrine that 
 an objective order of phenomena is directly re- 
 vealed in experience ? Surely it is. 
 
 No philosopher may deny those truths which lie 
 plainly before the eyes of all men, and are im- 
 bedded in the very foundations of common ex- 
 perience and of science. He who would dare to 
 maintain that the world is directly perceived, and 
 that, hence, w^e immediately know the world just as 
 it is, and know all about it, does not merit the com- 
 pliment of a labored refutation. He is already 
 refuted by palpable fact; we learn to know the 
 world gradually, and have to expend upon the 
 process much labor; our common knowledge of 
 nature grows, science grows. He is a desperate
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 39 
 
 realist, and blind, indeed, who would undertake 
 to deny such facts. Philosophy should understand 
 and interpret common experience and science, not 
 oppose them with preposterous hypotheses. 
 
 But, though our knowledge of the world grows, 
 it still remains true that we do learn to know the 
 world, to know not merely my ideas or the ideas of 
 another, but the world — a something contrasted 
 with everyone's ideas. There is found in experi- 
 ence the antithesis of subjective and objective, of 
 inner and outer. What is directly apprehended is 
 but little, yet that little serves as the basis of an 
 imposing structure; were it not given, the struc- 
 ture could not be raised. 
 
 Moreover, in raising it, we do not build at 
 random. I am not at liberty to piece out the 
 deficiencies of sense-knowledge as it may happen 
 to please me, making for myself any or every kind 
 of a world. To do this is not to learn to know the 
 world; it is, rather, to produce a castle in the air, 
 a phantom which dissolves in the presence of the 
 tests of truth which all men are able, within certain 
 limits, to apply to things. 
 
 In raising our edifice, we have the foundation 
 of the immediately given, and we have the rules 
 of the inductive and the deductive logic. One may 
 be impatient of waiting for the materials to serve 
 as a foundation; one may generalize hastily or 
 make disjointed deductions ; error is possible, and 
 error of divers sorts. But there is, at least, a theo-
 
 40 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 retic possibility of attaining to unshakable truth. 
 Even a doubt cannot rest upon nothing; there 
 would be no error, in any sense that has a distinc- 
 tive meaning, were there nothing with which to 
 contrast it. As a matter of fact, we have some- 
 thing with which to contrast it; were it not so, 
 the correction of error would be a meaningless 
 expression. 
 
 I think it is worth while to dwell upon the truth 
 that it is not well to emphasize excessively the 
 uncertainty or unreality of human knowledge and 
 the ignorance of man. Once, men were fond of 
 doing this in the interests of theological orthodoxy. 
 The scene has shifted, and we find it done now in 
 various quarters in the interests of highly doubtful 
 philosophical speculations. We are told that 
 science is all very well in its own sphere, but that 
 it cannot give us the real truth about things ; or 
 we are warned that the concepts of science are 
 self- contradictory, and will not bear careful scru- 
 tiny. In so far as such statements are not based 
 upon metaphysical considerations which we may 
 well regard with suspicion, they constitute an 
 attack upon that only which lies upon the confines 
 of our knowledge. Molecules, atoms, the ether, 
 and what not, may conceivably be swept into the 
 shadowy realm of exploded beliefs. Nevertheless, 
 our common experience of the worlds of matter 
 and of mind would remain unshaken, and with it 
 a vast number of truths which men have never
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 41 
 
 doubted and which men do not doubt. Nor would 
 the accepted methods of the investigation of truth 
 be done away wuth. Men have known for a very 
 long time that it is easier to lift a heavy stone on 
 the end of a lever than it is to raise it in the hands. 
 No criticism of the fundamental concepts of 
 mechanics can suo^wst a doubt here. And it does 
 not sound sensible in such cases to say that our 
 statement regarding the raising of the stone is not 
 really true, but is only a convenient way of ex- 
 pressing something. 
 
 When we have reason to believe that what we 
 have accepted as accurate statements of truth are 
 either inaccurate or wholly false, we are not left 
 in a mere chaos. We are left with the truth we 
 had before we framed such statements. We must 
 come back to common experience, and start out 
 once more upon the toilsome road of observation 
 and inference. Never are we without a world ; 
 we have discovered merely that we do not know 
 quite so much about the world as we supposed 
 we did. 
 
 There is, thus, nothing to prevent a man from 
 being a modern realist, and, at the same time, 
 from distinguishing between the world as it is, 
 and the particular stage in the knowledge of the 
 world at which we may seem to have arrived. But, 
 in using the phrase "the world as it is," one must 
 talk sense. He who understands it to mean some 
 sort of an Unknowable must laugh at the efforts of
 
 42 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 science to attain to truth. On the other hand, he 
 who is carried away by his recognition of the fact 
 that observation is not introspection, of the fact 
 that we do have at times a direct experience of the 
 objective order of phenomena, and who, on this 
 inadequate basis, is betrayed into claiming that 
 " the world as it is," is directly revealed in its ful- 
 ness to the mind of man, is plainly guilty of ex- 
 travagance. Did we know the world thus, there 
 would be no disputes, no correction of errors, no 
 growth in knowledge. 
 
 "The world as it is" is the goal of our en- 
 deavors. We start with some ground beneath 
 our feet, and we have an approved method of 
 procedure. That progress has been made ought to 
 be admitted even by the most pessimistic. The 
 history of science is not a mere list of revolutions, 
 a series of unstable attempts at government suc- 
 ceeded in each case by a reign of terror. Were it 
 no better than this, men would have been dis- 
 couraged long ago. Some truths have been 
 established ; and there is not now, as there has 
 never been, ground for universal doubt, not- 
 withstanding the rejection of many cherished 
 hypotheses. 
 
 IV 
 
 Is this Realism ? 
 I fancy it will seem to some that a realism that 
 admits as much as is admitted in the preceding
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 43 
 
 section can scarcely be called a realism at all. 
 It distinguishes carefully, it is true, between the 
 subjective and the objective; and refuses, appar- 
 ently quite in harmony with common sense and 
 science, to call what is revealed as belonging to 
 the objective order mental. It insists that the world 
 should not be confused with anyone's sensations 
 and ideas. 
 
 But, after all, does it not admit that the world 
 is revealed in phenomena of some sort, and that 
 these phenomena are not independent of the 
 bodily senses ^ Is not "the world as it is" simply 
 a full and accurate account of the world in terms 
 of such phenomena ? ^Yhat, then, shall we say 
 about "the world as it was," before the senses of 
 man and such creatures as man were developed ? 
 Did objects exist as we describe them? 
 
 It should be borne in mind that science does not 
 hesitate to give, with reservations, an account of 
 the state of the world as it was before man and 
 his senses came into being. Whatever objection 
 the man of science may bring against any such 
 account, it is not that it is couched in terms in- 
 telligible to man. His objection is always that 
 the account in question may not be a good one of 
 its kind. But may we not raise the question which 
 he appears to pass over as not worth raising? 
 May we not ask : Were there objects in exist- 
 ence, as described ? The xeiy stuff which enters 
 into their composition appears to be of compara-
 
 44 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 lively modern manufacture ; how could they have 
 existed ? 
 
 Of course, one may raise a somewhat similar 
 question regarding those physical things which 
 we do not actually perceive at any given moment. 
 Does the other side of the moon exist? The 
 words mean nothing except as we bring in the 
 objective order of phenomena revealed in expe- 
 rience, accepting a here and a there, a system of 
 things in space. And when I ask: What was the 
 world like before man and his senses came into 
 being ? my question is wholly without significance 
 unless I accept a system of things in time. In 
 asking the question I have tacitly assumed that 
 it is not mere noise to pronounce the word 
 "before." 
 
 In other words, I have done exactly what is 
 done by the plain man and the man of science — 
 I have accepted the objective order of phenomena, 
 the external world ; but have found myself puzzled 
 by the fact that this order is, in the case in question, 
 expressed in certain terms. We have seen, how- 
 ever, that it is by no means necessary that it should 
 be expressed in a particular set of terms. This is 
 matter of common experience. I may perceive 
 by sight a series of changes which are to me a 
 revelation of the objective order; I may perceive 
 such by touch ; I may credit my neighbor with ex- 
 periences of the objective order different from my 
 own; I may guess at the experiences of lower
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 45 
 
 creatures. Nevertheless, I talk of the one world; 
 I am concerned with the one system ; I may over- 
 look the particular form of the revelation, as it is 
 overlooked, without disastrous results, in common 
 life and in science. 
 
 When I ask whether this or that external thing 
 exists, I am not concerned primarily with my see- 
 ing it or with my feeling it, or with the fact that 
 some other creature may be percipient of it under 
 some given form. I am concerned with the ques- 
 tion whether it is to he given a place in the objective 
 order. There must, of course, be evidence that 
 things are to be assigned such a place, but the 
 evidence may be of many kinds. Things w4iich 
 are perceived, things which are not perceived, 
 things present, things past and gone, may have 
 such a place. This is what men have always 
 meant by external existence, and what they have 
 instinctively distinguished from mere perception. 
 No philosopher can claim to have discovered this 
 truth; it has always been known, although men 
 embarrassed with the difficulties of reflection 
 sometimes misconceive it. 
 
 Hence, the man of science is entirely in the 
 right in trying to give us an account of the past 
 in terms of our experience, and in being content 
 with that. If his account is perfect in its kind, 
 it is as true an account as can be given. To ask 
 for more is to make a preposterous demand. He 
 who gives such an account is a realist; and tlie
 
 46 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 philosopher who approves of his procedure is a 
 reahst, too. 
 
 Still, it may be insisted, is it not a strange and 
 unnatural doctrine that the world as described 
 by the geologist really existed as described, when 
 it is admitted that the terms of the description 
 must be recognized as related to the senses of 
 man? What actually existed and functioned in 
 the external world before there were sensations 
 of color, of touch and movement, and all the rest ? 
 
 He who keeps coming back to this has missed 
 the force of what has been said just above. He 
 finds it impossible to grasp what is meant by the 
 word "existence," as it is universally used in 
 speaking of physical things. No man of sense, 
 in common life, would repudiate the revelations 
 of geology, and say that it is a better description 
 of what existed in past ages to call it the unknow- 
 able and the indescribable. No man of science 
 would dream of doing this. Science concerns 
 itself with phenomena and their relations, and 
 we have no science — we have no knowledge — 
 so long as we remain in the realm of the unin- 
 telligible. Nothing is natural save nature, and 
 we know just so much of nature as is revealed to 
 us in the phenomena of the objective and the sub- 
 jective orders. It is not unnatural to maintain 
 that phenomena may have a place in the objective 
 order, and may be said to exist, merely on that 
 account, and without any reference to their place
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 47 
 
 in the subjective order. Nor will the doctrine 
 seem stran«:e to one who has learned to distin- 
 guish clearly between the subjective and the ob- 
 jective. He who has not yet learned to do this 
 will say that the geologist "projects" his sensations 
 into the past, and will overlook the fact that, upon 
 his hypothesis, there is nothing that can properly 
 be called past. 
 
 One more point I must dwell upon before 
 bringing this paper to a close. In speaking of 
 "the new realism," I have not meant to defend 
 just one particular type of doctrine, but rather 
 to point out what must be admitted by any form 
 of realism which would not fly in the face of 
 certain rather palpable facts. 
 
 I have not dwelt, in the above, upon what I 
 may call the intimate structure of experience. To 
 my mind, the phenomena of the two orders dis- 
 cussed, and the relations which obtain between 
 them, are all that we are called upon to take into 
 account. But there are those who think they 
 find, or must assume, in experience, something 
 very different from phenomena and their rela- 
 tions. They may distinguish between the phenom- 
 ena of which we are aware and the "awareness," 
 co-ordinating the latter with the former; they may 
 claim that there can be no experience except as 
 we admit a "uniting" activity which knits phe- 
 nomena into one whole; they may hold that the 
 "self" is not to be resolved into any collocation
 
 48 THE NEW REALISM 
 
 of phenomena, but is something wholly different, 
 and something the functioning of which must be 
 taken into account in every discussion of our 
 knowledge. Those who are familiar with the 
 history of speculative thought will realize that 
 we are here brought face to face with a tendency 
 which has assumed varying forms, and is strongly 
 marked in minds of a certain type, or in those 
 which have been subjected to certain influences. 
 
 I have no intention of combating any of these 
 types of doctrine here. What I wish to do is to 
 point out that there is nothing to prevent their 
 adherents from embracing a realistic doctrine of 
 the sort indicated above. Why may they not dis- 
 tinguish clearly between the phenomena of the 
 objective order and those of the subjective order ? 
 Why may they not recognize that, when we refer 
 phenomena to the former, we do not necessarily 
 mean that anyone is perceiving them ? Such men 
 are usually idealists, but they are not compelled 
 to involve themselves in the difficulties which fol- 
 low in the train of idealism. If it is possible for 
 a man to be a realist while admitting that the 
 geologist's account of past ages is couched in 
 terms of our present experience, why may they 
 not admit that the physical world existed at a 
 time when the "awareness," or the "uniting 
 activity," or the "self," did not exist? They have 
 only to distinguish clearly between the objective 
 order itself and their assumed non- phenomenal
 
 GEORGE STUART FULLERTON 49 
 
 entity, and to use that order as a framework for 
 the ordering of experience as a whole. If they 
 do this, they are doing what is done in common 
 life and in science — they are distinguishing be- 
 tween the existence of things and our perception 
 of them. Without this distinction we should, 
 indeed, find it hard to get on.
 
 DOES REALITY POSSESS PRACTICAL 
 CHARACTER?
 
 DOES REALITY POSSESS PRACTICAL 
 CHARACTER ? 
 
 By John Dewey 
 
 I 
 
 IXECENTLY I have had an experience which, 
 insignificant in itself, seems to mean something as 
 an index-figure of the present philosophic situa- 
 tion. In a criticism of the neo- Kantian concep- 
 tion that a priori functions of thought are necessary 
 to constitute knowledge, it became relevant to 
 deny its underlying postulate: viz., the existence of 
 anything properly called mental states or subjective 
 impressions precedent to all objective recognitions, 
 and requiring accordingly some transcendental 
 function to order them into a world of stable and 
 consistent reference. It was argued that such 
 so-called original mental data are in truth turning 
 points of the readjustment, or making over, 
 through a state of incompatibility and shock, of 
 objective affairs. This doctrine was met by the cry 
 of "subjectivism"! It had seemed to its author 
 to be a criticism, on grounds at once naturalistic 
 and ethical, of the ground proposition of subjec- 
 tivism. Why this diversity of interpretations ? So 
 
 53
 
 54 REALITY AS PRACTICAL 
 
 far as the ^Titer can judge, it is due to the fact 
 that certain things characteristic of practical Hfe, 
 such things as lack and need, conflict and clash, 
 desire and effort, loss and satisfaction, had been 
 frankly referred to reality ; and to the further fact 
 that the function and structure of knowing were 
 systematically connected with these practical fea- 
 tures. These conceptions are doubtless radical 
 enough ; the latter was perhaps more or less revo- 
 lutionary. The probability, the antecedent prob- 
 ability, was that hostile critics would have easy 
 work in pointing out specific errors of fact and 
 interpretation. But no: the simpler, the more 
 effective method, was to dismiss the whole thing 
 as anarchic subjectivism. 
 
 This was and remains food for thought. I 
 have been able to find but one explanation: In 
 current philosophy, everything of a practical 
 nature is regarded as "merely" personal, and 
 the "merely" has the force of denying legitimate 
 standing in the court of cosmic jurisdiction. This 
 conception seems to me the great and the ignored 
 assumption in contemporary philosophy: many 
 who might shrink from the doctrine if expressly 
 formulated hang desperately to its implications. 
 Yet surely as an underlying assumption, it is 
 sheer prejudice, a culture-survival. If we suppose 
 the traditions of philosophic discussion wiped out 
 and philosophy starting afresh from the most active 
 tendencies of to-day, — those striving in social life.
 
 JOHN DE^VEY 55 
 
 in science, in literature, and art, — one can hardly 
 imagine any philosophic view springing up and 
 gaining credence, which did not give large place, in 
 its scheme of things, to the practical and personal, 
 and to them without employing disparaging terms, 
 such as phenomenal, merely subjective, and so on. 
 Why, putting it mildly, should what gives tragedy, 
 comedy, and poignancy to life, be excluded from 
 things ? Doubtless, what we call life, what we take 
 to be genuinely vital, is not all of things, but it is a 
 part of things ; and is that part which counts most 
 with the philosopher — unless he has quite parted 
 with his ancient dignity of lover of wisdom. 
 What becomes of philosophy so far as humane 
 and liberal interests are concerned, if, in an age 
 when the person and the personal loom large in 
 politics, industry, religion, art, and science, it con- 
 tents itself with this parrot cry of phenomenalism, 
 whenever the personal comes into view ? When 
 science is carried by the idea of evolution into 
 introducing into the world the principles of initia- 
 tive, variation, struggle, and selection ; and when 
 social forces have driven into bankruptcy abso- 
 lutistic and static dogmas as authorities for the 
 conduct of life, it is trifling for philosophy to de- 
 cline to look the situation in the face. The relega- 
 tion, as matter of course, of need, of stress and 
 strain, strife and satisfaction, to the merely per- 
 sonal and the merely personal to the limbo of 
 something which is neither flesh, fowl, nor good
 
 56 REALITY AS PRACTICAL 
 
 red herring, seems the thoughtless rehearsal of 
 ancestral prejudice. 
 
 When we get beyond the echoing of tradition, 
 the sticking point seems to be the relation of 
 knowledge to the practical function of things. 
 Let reality be in itself as "practical" as you 
 please, but let not this practical character lay 
 profane hands on the ark of truth. Every new 
 mode of interpreting life — every new gospel — 
 is met with the charge of antinomianism. An im- 
 agination bound by custom apprehends the restric- 
 tions that are relaxed and the checks that are 
 removed, but not the inevitable responsibilities 
 and tests that the new idea brings in. And so the 
 conception that knowledge makes a difference 
 in and to things looks licentious to those who fail 
 to see that the necessity of doing well this busi- 
 ness, of making the right difference puts intelli- 
 gence under bonds it never yet has known : most 
 of all in philosophy, the most gayly irresponsible 
 of the procedures, and the most irresponsively 
 sullen, of the historic fruits of intelligence. 
 
 Why should the idea that knowledge makes 
 a difference to and in things be antecedently 
 objectionable ? If one is already committed to 
 a belief that Reality is neatly and finally tied 
 up in a packet without loose ends, unfinished 
 issues or new departures, one would object to 
 knowledge making a difference just as one would 
 object to any other impertinent obtruder. But if
 
 JOHN DEWEY 57 
 
 one believes that the world itself is in transforma- 
 tion, why should the notion that knowledge is the 
 most important mode of its modification and the 
 only organ of its guidance be a priori obnoxious ? 
 
 There is, I think, no answer save that the 
 theory of knowledge has been systematically built 
 up on the notion of a static universe, so that even 
 those who are perfectly free in accepting the lessons 
 of physics and biology concerning moving energy 
 and evolution, and of history concerning the 
 constant transformation of man's affairs (science 
 included), retain an unquestioning belief in a 
 theory of knowledge which is out of any possible 
 harmony with their own theor}' of the matters to 
 be known. Modern epistemology, having created 
 the idea that the way to frame right conceptions 
 is to analyze knowledge, has strengthened this 
 view. For it at once leads to the view that realities 
 must themselves have a theoretic and intellectual 
 complexion — not a practical one. This view is 
 naturally congenial to idealists ; but that realists 
 should so readily play into the hands of idealists 
 by asserting what, on the basis of a formal theory 
 of knowledge, realities must be, instead of accept- 
 ing the guidance of things in divining what knowl- 
 edge 15, is an anomaly so striking as to support 
 the view that the notion of static reality has taken 
 its last stand in ideas about knowledge. Take, 
 for example, the most striking, because the ex- 
 treme case — knowledge of a past event. It is
 
 58 REALITY AS PRACTICAL 
 
 absurd to suppose that knowledge makes a differ- 
 ence to the final or appropriate content of knowl- 
 edge: to the subject-matter which fulfils the 
 requirements of knowing. In this case, it would 
 get in its own way and trip itself up in endless 
 regress. But it seems the very superstition of 
 intellectualism to suppose that this fact about 
 knowledge can decide what is the nature of that 
 reference to the past which when rightly made is 
 final. No doctrine about knowledge can hinder the 
 belief — if there be sufficient specific evidence for 
 it — that what we know as past may be something 
 which has irretrievably undergone just the differ- 
 ence which knowledge makes. 
 
 Now arguments against pragmatism — by which 
 I mean the doctrine that reality possesses practical 
 character and that this character is most effica- 
 ciously expressed in the function of intelligence ^ — 
 seem to fall blandly into this fallacy. They assume 
 that to hold that knowledge makes a difference in 
 existences is equivalent to holding that it makes a 
 difference in the object to he known, thus defeating 
 its own purpose ; witless that the reality which is the 
 appropriate object of knowledge in a given case 
 
 ^ This definition, in the present state of discussion, is an arbitrary or per- 
 eonal one. The text does not mean that " pragmatism " is currently used 
 exclusively in this sense; obviously there are other senses. It does not 
 mean it is the sense in which it ought to be used. I have no wish to legislate 
 either for language or for philosophy. But it marks the sense in which it 
 is used in this paper; and the pragmatic movement is still so loose and 
 variable that I judge one has a right to fix his own meaning, provided he 
 serves notice and adheres to it.
 
 JOHN DEWTEY 59 
 
 may be precisely a reality in which knowing has 
 succeeded in making the needed difference. This 
 question is not one to be settled by manipulation 
 of the concept of knowledge, nor by dialectic 
 discussion of its essence or nature. It is a question 
 of facts, a question of what knowing exists as in 
 the scheme of existence. If things undergo change 
 without thereby ceasing to be real, there can be no 
 formal bar to knowing being one specific kind of 
 change in things, nor to its test being found in the 
 successful carrying into effect of the kind of change 
 intended. If knowing be a change in a reality, 
 then the more knowing reveals this change, the 
 more transparent, the more adequate, it is. And 
 if all existences are in transition, then the knowl- 
 edge which treats them as if they were something 
 of which knowledge is a kodak fixation is just the 
 kind of knowledge which refracts and perverts 
 them. And by the same token a knowing which 
 actively participates in a change in the way to 
 effect it in the needed fashion would be the 
 type of knowing which is valid. If reality be 
 itself in transition — and this doctrine originated 
 not with the objectionable pragmatist but with the 
 physicist and naturalist and moral historian — 
 then the doctrine that knowledge is reality making 
 a particular and specified sort of change in itself 
 seems to have the best chance at maintaining a 
 theory of knowing which itself is in wholesome 
 touch with the genuine and valid.
 
 60 REALITY AS PRACTICAL 
 
 II 
 
 If the ground be cleared of a priori objections, 
 and if it be evident that pragmatism cannot be 
 disposed of by any formal or dialectic manipu- 
 lations of "knowledge" or "truth," but only by 
 showing that some specific things are not of the 
 sort claimed, we may consider some common sense 
 affiliations of pragmatism. Common sense regards 
 intelligence as having a purpose and knowledge as 
 amounting to something. I once heard a physicist, 
 quite innocent of the pragmatic controversy, 
 remark that the knowledge of a mechanic or 
 farmer was what the Yankee calls gumption — 
 acknowledgment of things in their belongings and 
 uses, and that to his mind natural science was only 
 gumption on a larger scale: the convenient cata- 
 loguing and arranging of a whole lot of things with 
 reference to their most efficacious services. Popu- 
 larly, good judgment is judgment as to the relative 
 values of things : good sense is horse sense, ability 
 to take hold of things right end up, to fit an instru- 
 ment to an obstacle, to select resources apt for a 
 task. To be reasonable is to recognize things in 
 their offices as obstacles and as resources. Intelli- 
 gence, in its ordinary use, is a practical term ; 
 ability to size up matters with respect to the needs 
 and possibilities of the various situations in which 
 one is called to do something; capacity to en-
 
 JOHN DE^YEY 61 
 
 visage things in terms of the adjustments and 
 adaptations they make possible or hinder. Our 
 objective test of the presence or absence of inteUi- 
 gence is influence upon behavior. No capacity to 
 make adjustments means no inteUigence; con- 
 duct evincing management of complex and novel 
 conditions means a high degree of reason. Such 
 conditions at least suggest that a reality- to-be- 
 known, a reality which is the appropriate subject- 
 matter of knowledge is reality-of-use-and-in-use, 
 direct or indirect, and that a reality which is not 
 in any sort of use, or bearing upon use, may go 
 hang, so far as knowledge is concerned. 
 
 No one, I suppose, would deny that all knowl- 
 edge issues in some action which changes things 
 to some extent — be the action only a more delib- 
 erate maintenance of a course of conduct already 
 instinctively entered upon. When I see a sign on 
 the street corner I can turn or go on, knowing 
 what I am about. The perceptions of the scientist 
 need have no such overt or "utihtarian" uses, 
 but surely after them he behaves difterently, as 
 an inquirer if in no other way; and the cumu- 
 lative effect of such changes finally modifies the 
 overt action of the ordinary man. That knowing, 
 after the event, makes a difference of this sort, few 
 I suppose would deny : if that were all pragmatism 
 means, it would perhaps be accepted as a harmless 
 truism. But there is a further question of fact: 
 just how is the "consequent" action related to
 
 62 REALITY AS PRACTICAL 
 
 the "precedent" knowledge? When is "after the 
 event"? What degree of continuity exists? Is 
 the difference between knowing and acting intelli- 
 gently one of kind or simply one of dominant 
 quality ? How does a thing, if it is not already in 
 change in the knowing, manage to issue at its term 
 in action ? Moreover, do not the changes actively 
 effected constitute the whole import of the knowl- 
 edge, and hence its final measure and test of 
 validity ? If it merely happens that knowing when 
 it is done with passes into some action, by what 
 miracle is the subsequent action so pat to the 
 situation? Is it not rather true that the "knowl- 
 edge" is instituted and framed in anticipation of 
 the consequent issue, and, in the degree in which 
 it is wise and prudent, is held open to revision 
 during it? Certainly the moralist (one might 
 quote, for example, Goethe, Carlyle, and Mazzini) 
 and the common man often agree that full knowl- 
 edge, adequate assurance, of reality is found only 
 in the issue which fulfils ideas ; that we have 
 to do a doctrine to know its truth; otherwise it 
 is only dogma or doctrinaire *programme. Experi- 
 mental science is a recognition that no idea is 
 entitled to be termed knowledge till it has passed 
 into such overt manipulation of physical conditions 
 as constructs the object to which the idea refers. 
 If one could get rid of his traditional logical 
 theories and set to work afresh to frame a theory 
 of knowledge on the basis of the procedure of the
 
 JOHN DE\\:EY 63 
 
 common man, the moralist and the experimentalist, 
 would it be the forced or the natural procedure to 
 say that the realities which we know, which we are 
 sure of, are precisely those realities that have taken 
 shape in and through the procedures of knowing ? 
 I turn to another type of consideration. Cer- 
 tainly one of the most genuine problems of modern 
 life is the reconciliation of the scientific view of 
 the universe with the claims of the moral life. 
 Are judgments in terms of the redistribution of 
 matter in motion (or some other closed formula) 
 alone valid ? Or are accounts of the universe in 
 terms of possibility and desirability, of initiative 
 and responsibility, also valid ? There is no oc- 
 casion to expatiate on the importance of the 
 moral life, nor upon the supreme importance of 
 intelligence within the moral life. But there does 
 seem to be occasion for asking how moral judg- 
 ments — judgments of the would and should — re- 
 late themselves to the world of scientific knowledge. 
 To frame a theory of knowledge which makes it 
 necessary to deny the validity of moral ideas, or 
 else to refer them to some other and separate kind 
 of universe from that of common sense and science, 
 is both provincial and arbitrary. The pragmatist 
 has at least tried to face, and not to dodge, the 
 question of how it is that moral and scientific 
 "knowledge" can both hold of one and the 
 same world. And whatever the difficulties in his 
 proffered solution, the conception that scientific
 
 64 REALITY AS PRACTICAL 
 
 judgments are to be assimilated to moral is closer 
 to common sense than is the theory that validity 
 is to be denied of moral judgments because they 
 do not square with a preconceived theory of the 
 nature of the world to which scientific judgments 
 must refer. And all moral judgments are about 
 changes to be made. 
 
 Ill 
 
 I turn to one aflBliation of the pragmatic theory 
 with the results of recent science. The necessity 
 for the occurrence of an event in the way of knowl- 
 edge, of an organism which reacts or behaves in a 
 specific way, would seem to be as well established 
 as any scientific proposition. It is a peculiar 
 fact, a fact fit to stir curiosity, that the rational 
 function seems to be intercalated in a scheme of 
 practical adjustments. The parts and members 
 of the organism are certainly not there primarily 
 for pure intellection or for theoretic contempla- 
 tion. The brain, the last physical organ of thought, 
 is a part of the same practical machinery for 
 bringing about adaptation of the environment 
 to the life requirements of the organism, to which 
 belong legs and hand and eye. That the brain frees 
 organic behavior from complete servitude to im- 
 mediate physical conditions, that it makes possible 
 the liberation of energy for remote and ever ex- 
 panding ends is, indeed, a precious fact, but not
 
 JOHN DEWEY 65 
 
 one which removes the brain from the category 
 of organic devices of behavior/ That the organ 
 of thinking, of knowledge, was at least originally 
 an organ of conduct, few, I imagine, will deny. 
 And even if we try to believe that the cognitive 
 function has supervened as a different operation, 
 it is difficult to believe that the transfiguration 
 has been so radical that knowing has lost all 
 traces of its connection with vital impulse. But 
 unless we so assume, have we any alternatives 
 except to hold that this continual presence of vital 
 impulse is a disturbing and refracting factor which 
 forever prevents knowledge from reaching its own 
 aim; or else that a certain promoting, a certain 
 carrying forward of the vital impulse, importing cer- 
 tain differences in things, i^ the aim of knowledge ? 
 The problem cannot be evaded — save ostrich 
 wise — by saying that such considerations are 
 "merely genetic," or "psychological," having to 
 do only with the origin and natural history of 
 knowing. For the point is that the organic reac- 
 tion, the behavior of the organism, affects the 
 content of awareness. The subject-matter of all 
 awareness is thing-related- to-organism — related 
 as stimulus direct or indirect or as material of 
 response, present or remote, ulterior or achieved. 
 
 ' It is interesting to note how the metaphysical puzzles regarding " paral- 
 lelism," "interaction," "automatism," the relation of "consciousness" to 
 "body," evaporate when one ceases isolating the brain into a peculiar physical 
 substrate of mind at large, and treats it simply as one portion of the body as 
 the instrumentality of adaptive behavior. 
 
 5
 
 66 REALITY AS PRACTICAL 
 
 No one — so far as I know — denies this with re- 
 spect to the perceptual field of awareness. Pains, 
 pleasures, hunger, and thirst, all "secondary" 
 qualities, involve inextricably the "interaction" of 
 organism and environment. The perceptual field 
 is distributed and arranged as the possible field 
 of selective reactions of the organism at its centre. 
 Up and down, far and near, before and behind, 
 right and left, hard and soft (as well as white and 
 black, bass and alto), involve reference to a centre 
 of behavior. 
 
 This material has so long been the stock in trade 
 of both idealistic arguments and proclamations 
 of the agnostic "relativity" of knowledge that 
 philosophers have grown aweary of listening. 
 But even this lethargy might be quickened by a 
 moderate hospitality to the pragmatic interpre- 
 tation. That red, or far and near, or hard and 
 soft, or big and little, involve a relation between 
 organism and environment, is no more an argu- 
 ment for idealism than is the fact that water in- 
 volves a relation between hydrogen and oxygen.* 
 It is, however, an argument for the ultimately 
 practical value of these distinctions — that they are 
 differences made in what things would have been 
 without organic behavior — differences made not 
 by "consciousness" or "mind," but by the organ- 
 ism as the active centre of a system of activities. 
 Moreover, the whole agnostic sting of the doctrine 
 
 * I owe this illustration to my colleague, Dr. Montague.
 
 JOHN DEWEY 67 
 
 of "relativity" lies in the assumption that the 
 ideal or aim of knowledge is to repeat or copy a 
 prior existence — in which case, of course, the 
 making of contemporaneous differences by the 
 organism in the very fact of awareness would get 
 in the way and forever hinder the knowledge func- 
 tion from the fulfilment of its proper end. 
 Knowledge, awareness, in this case suffers from 
 an impediment which no surgery can better. But 
 if the aim of knowing be precisely to make cer- 
 tain differences in an environment, to carry on to 
 favorable issue, by the readjustment of the organ- 
 ism, certain changes going on indifferently in the 
 environment, then the fact that the changes of the 
 organism enter pervasively into the subject-matter 
 of awareness is no restriction or perversion of 
 knowledge, but part of the fulfilment of its end. 
 
 The only question would then be whether the 
 proper reactions take place. The whole agnostic, 
 positivistic controversy is flanked by a single move. 
 The issue is no longer an ideally necessary but 
 actually impossible copying, versus an improper 
 but unavoidable modification of realit}^ through 
 organic inhibitions and stimulations : but it is the 
 right, the economical, the effective, and, if one 
 may venture, the useful and satisfactory reaction 
 versus the wasteful, the enslaving, the misleading, 
 and the confusing reaction. The presence of 
 organic responses, influencing and modifying every 
 content, every subject-matter of awareness, is the
 
 68 REALITY AS PRACTICAL 
 
 undoubted fact. But the significant thing is the 
 way organic behavior enters in — the way it 
 influences and modifies. We assign very different 
 values to different types of " knowledge," — or 
 subject-matters involving organic attitudes and 
 operations. Some are only guesses, opinions, sus- 
 picious characters; others are "knowledge" in the 
 honorific and eulogistic sense — science ; some turn 
 out mistakes, blunders, errors. Whence and how 
 this discrimination of character in what is taken at 
 its own time to be good knowledge } Why and how 
 is the matter of some "knowledge" genuine-know- 
 ing and of other mis-knowing f Awareness is itself 
 a blanket term, covering, in the same bed, delusion, 
 doubt, confusion, ambiguity, and definition, or- 
 ganization, logical conclusiveness assured by evi- 
 dence and reason. Any naturalistic or realistic 
 theory is committed to the idea that all of these 
 terms bear impartially the same relation to things 
 considered as sheer existences. What we must 
 have in any case is the same existences — the 
 same in kind — only differently arranged or linked 
 up. But why then the tremendous difference in 
 value ? And if the unnaturalist, the non-realist, 
 says the difference is one of existential kind, made 
 by the working here malign, there benign, of " con- 
 sciousness," "psychical" operations and states, 
 upon the existences which are the direct subject- 
 matter of knowledge, there is still the problem of 
 discriminating the conditions and nature of the
 
 JOHN DEWEY 69 
 
 respective beneficent and malicious interventions 
 of the peculiar "existence" labelled consciouness/ 
 The realness of error, ambiguity, doubt and guess 
 poses a problem. It is a problem which has per- 
 plexed philosophy so long and has led to so many 
 speculative adventures, that it would seem worth 
 while, were it only for the sake of variety, to listen 
 to the pragmatic solution. It is the business of 
 that organic adaptation involved in all knowing 
 to make a certain difference in reality, but not 
 to make any old difference, any casual difference. 
 The right, the true and good, difference is that 
 which carries out satisfactorily the specific pur- 
 pose for the sake of which knowing occurs. All 
 manufactures are the product of an activity, but it 
 does not follow that all manufactures are equally 
 good. And so all "knowledges" are differences 
 made in things by knowing, but some differences 
 are not calculated or wanted in the knowing, and 
 hence are disturbers and interlopers when they 
 come — while others fulfil the intent of the know- 
 ing, being in such harmony with the consistent 
 behavior of the organism as to reinforce and en- 
 large its functioning. A mistake is literally a 
 mishandling; a doubt is a temporary suspense 
 and vacillation of reactions ; an ambiguity is the 
 tension of alternative but incompatible mode of 
 
 ' Of course on the theory I am interested in expounding, the so-called 
 action of "consciousness" means simply the organic releases in the way 
 of behavior which are the conditions of awareness, and which also modify 
 its content.
 
 70 REALITY AS PRACTICAL 
 
 responsive treatment; an inquiry is a tentative 
 and retrievable (because intra-organic) mode of 
 activity entered upon prior to launching upon a 
 knowledge which is public, ineluctable — without 
 anchors to windward — because it has taken phys- 
 ical effect through overt action. 
 
 It is practically all one to say that the norm 
 of honorable knowing is to make no difference 
 in its object, and that its aim is to attain and 
 buttress a specific kind of difference in reality. 
 Knowing fails in its business if it makes a change 
 in its own object — that is a mistake ; but its own 
 object is none the less a prior existence changed in 
 a certain way. Nor is this a play upon the two 
 senses — end and subject-matter — of "object." 
 The organism has its appropriate functions. To 
 maintain, to expand adequate functioning is its 
 business. This functioning does not occur in 
 vacuo. It involves co-operative and readjusted 
 changes in the cosmic medium. Hence the appro- 
 priate subject-matter of awareness is not reality at 
 large, a metaphysical heaven to be mimeographed 
 at many removes upon a badly constructed mental 
 carbon paper which yields at best only fragmentary, 
 blurred, and erroneous copies. Its proper and 
 legitimate object is that relationship of organism 
 and environment in which functioning is most 
 amply and effectively attained; or by which, in 
 case of obstruction and consequent needed ex- 
 perimentation, its later eventual free course is
 
 JOHN DEWEY 71 
 
 most facilitated. As for the other reaUty, meta- 
 physical reahty at large, it may, so far as aware- 
 ness is concerned, go to its own place. 
 
 For ordinary purposes, that is for practical 
 purposes, the truth and the realness of things 
 are synonymous. We are all children who say 
 "really and truly." A reality which is so taken 
 in organic response as to lead to subsequent re- 
 actions that are off the track and aside from 
 the mark, while it is, existentially speaking, per- 
 fectly real, is not good reality. It lacks the hall- 
 mark of value. Since it is a certain kind of 
 object which we want, that which will be as 
 favorable as possible to a consistent and liberal 
 or growing functioning, it is this kind, the true 
 kind, which for us monopolizes the title of 
 reality. Pragmatically, teleologically, this iden- 
 tification of truth and "reality " is sound and rea- 
 sonable : rationalistically, it leads to the notion 
 of the duplicate versions of reality, one absolute 
 and static because exhausted; the other phenom- 
 enal and kept continually on the jump because 
 otherwise its own inherent nothingness would 
 lead to its total annihilation. Since it is only 
 genuine or sincere things, things which are good 
 for what they pretend to in the way of con- 
 sequences, that we want or are after, morally they 
 alone are "real."
 
 n REALITY AS PRACTICAL 
 
 IV 
 
 So far we have been dealing with awareness 
 as a fact — a fact there Hke any fact — and have 
 been concerned to show that the subject-matter 
 of awareness is, in any case, things in process 
 of change; and in such change that the knowing 
 function takes a hand in trying to guide it or 
 steer it, so that some (and not other) differences 
 accrue. But what about the awareness itself ? 
 What happens when it is made the subject- 
 matter of awareness ? What sort of a thing is 
 it? It is, I submit, mere sophistication (futile 
 at that), to argue either that we cannot become 
 aware of awareness without involving ourselves 
 in an endless regress, or that whenever we are 
 aware of anything we are thereby necessarily 
 aware of awareness once for all, so that it has no 
 character save this purely formal and empty one. 
 Taken concretely, awareness is an event with 
 certain specifiable conditions. We may indeed 
 be aware of it formally, as a bare fact, just as we 
 may be cognizant of an explosion without know- 
 ing anything of its nature. But we may also be 
 aware of it in a curious and analytic spirit, under- 
 taking to study it in detail. This inquiry, like 
 any other inquiry, proceeds by determining con- 
 ditions and consequences. Here awareness is 
 a characteristic fact, presenting to inquiry its own
 
 JOHN DEWEY 73 
 
 characteristic ear-marks ; and a valid knowledge 
 of awareness is the same sort of thing as valid 
 knowledge of the spectrum or of a trotting horse; 
 it proceeds generically in the same way and 
 must satisfy the same generic tests. 
 
 What, then, is awareness found to be ? The 
 following answer, dogmatically summary in form, 
 involves positive difficulties, and glides over many 
 points w^here our ignorance is still too great. 
 But it represents a general trend of scientific in- 
 quiry, carried on, I hardly need say, on its ow^n 
 merits without respect to the pragmatic contro- 
 versy. Awareness means attention, and attention 
 means a crisis of some sort in an existent situa- 
 tion; a forking of the roads of some material, a 
 tendency to go this way and that. It represents 
 something the matter, something out of gear, or 
 in some way menaced, insecure, problematical and 
 strained. This state of tension, of ambiguous 
 indications, projects and tendencies, is not merely 
 in the "mind," it is nothing merely emotional. It 
 is in the facts of the situation as transitive facts ; 
 the emotional or "subjective" disturbance is 
 just a part of the larger disturbance. And if, 
 employing the language of psychology, we say 
 that attention is a phenomenon of conflicting 
 habits, being the process of resolving this con- 
 flict by finding an act which functions all the 
 factors concerned, this language does not make 
 the facts "merely psychological" — whatever that
 
 74 REALITY AS PRACTICAL 
 
 means.* The habits are as biologic as they are 
 "personal," and as cosmic as they are biologic. 
 They are the total order of things expressed in one 
 way; just as a physical or chemical phenomenon 
 is the same order expressed in another way. The 
 statement in terms of conflict and readjustment 
 of habits is at most one way of locating the dis- 
 turbance in things; it furnishes no substitute for, 
 or rival of, reality, and no "psychical" duplication. 
 
 If this be true, then awareness, even in its most 
 perplexed and confused state, a state of maximum 
 doubt and precarious ness of subject-matter, means 
 things entering, via the particular thing known 
 as organism, into a peculiar condition of differ- 
 ential — or additive — change. How can we re- 
 fuse to raise and consider the question of how 
 things in this condition are related to the prior 
 state which emerges into it, and to the subsequent 
 state of things into which it issues .^^^ 
 
 Suppose the case to be awareness of a chair. 
 Suppose that this awareness comes only when 
 there is some problematic affair with which the 
 
 * What does it mean ? Does the objectivity of fact disappear when the 
 biologist gives it a biological statement ? Why not object to his conclusions 
 on the ground that they are "merely" biological? 
 
 ^ It is this question oj tfie relation to one other of different successive states of 
 things which the pragmatic method substitutes for the epistemologlcal 
 inquiry of how one sort of existence, purely mental, temporal but not spatial, 
 immaterial, made up of sublimated gaseous consciousness, can get beyond 
 itself and have valid reference to a totally different kind of existence — ■ 
 spatial and extended ; and how it can receive impressions from the latter, etc., 
 — all the questions which constitute that species of confirmed intellectual 
 lock-jaw called epistemology.
 
 JOHN DEWEY 75 
 
 chair Is in some way — in whatever degree of 
 remoteness — concerned. It may be a wonder 
 whether that is a chair at all; or whether it is 
 strong enough to stand on; or where I shall put 
 it; or whether it is worth what I paid for it; or, 
 as not infrequently happens, the situation in- 
 volved in uncertainty may be some philosophic 
 matter in which the perception of the chair is 
 cited as evidence or illustration. (Humorously 
 enough, the awareness of it may even be cited 
 in the course of a philosophic argument intended 
 to show that awareness has nothing to do with 
 situations of incompleteness and ambiguity.) 
 Now what of the change the chair undergoes in 
 entering this way into a situation of perplexed 
 inquiry ? Is this any part of the genuineness of 
 that chair with which we are concerned ? If not, 
 where is the change found ? In something totally 
 different called "consciousness".^ In that case 
 how can the operations of inquir}', of observation 
 and memory and reflection, ever have any assur- 
 ance of getting referred back to the right object ? 
 Positively the presumption is that the chair-of- 
 which-we-are-speaking, is the chair oj-which-we 
 are-speaking; it is the same thing that is out there 
 which is involved also in the doubtful situa- 
 tion. Moreover, the reference to "consciousness" 
 as the exclusive locus of the doubt only repeats 
 the problem, for "consciousness," by the theory 
 under consideration, means, after all, only tlie
 
 76 REALITY AS PRACTICAL 
 
 chair as concerned in the problematical situation. 
 The physical chair remains unchanged, you say. 
 Surely, if as is altogether likely, what is meant 
 by physical is precisely that part of the chair as 
 object of total awareness which remains unaf- 
 fected, for certain possible purposes, by entering 
 for certain other actual purposes into the situa- 
 tion of awareness. But how can we segregate, 
 antecedently to experimental inquiry, the " physical " 
 chair from the chair which is now the object to be 
 known ; into what contradictions do we fall when 
 we attempt to define the object of one awareness 
 not in its own terms, but in terms of a selected 
 type of object which is the appropriate subject- 
 matter of some other cognizance ! 
 
 But awareness means inquiry as well as doubt — 
 these are the negative and positive, the retro- 
 spective and the prospective relationships of the 
 thing. This means a genuinely additive quale — 
 one of readjustment in prior things.^ I know 
 the dialectic argument that nothing can assume 
 a new relation, because in order to do so it must 
 already be completely related — when it comes 
 from an absolutist I can understand why he 
 holds it, even if I cannot understand the idea 
 itself. But apart from this conceptual reasoning 
 we must follow the lead of our subject-matter; 
 and when we find a thing assuming new relations 
 
 * We have arrived here, upon a more analytic platform, at the point made 
 earlier concerning the fact that knowing issues in action which changes 
 things.
 
 JOHN DEWEY 77 
 
 in the process of inquiry, must accept the fact and 
 frame our theory of things and of knowing to 
 include it, not assert that it is impossible because 
 we already have a theory of knowledge which 
 precludes it. In inquiry, the existence which has 
 become doubtful always undergoes experimental 
 reconstruction. This may be largely imaginative or 
 "speculative." We may view certain things as if 
 placed under varying conditions, and consider what 
 then happens to them. But such differences are 
 really transformative so far as they go, — and 
 besides, such inquiries never reach conclusions 
 finally justifiable. In important and persistent 
 inquiry, we insist upon something in the way of 
 actual physical making — be it only a diagram. 
 In other words, science, or knowing in its honorific 
 sense, is experimental, involving physical construc- 
 tion. We insist upon something being done about 
 it, that we may see how the idea when carried 
 into effect comports with the other things through 
 which our activities are hedged in and released. 
 To avoid this conclusion by saying that knowing 
 makes no difference in the "truth," but merely is 
 the preliminary exercise w^hich discovers it, is that 
 old friend whose acquaintance w^e have repeatedly 
 made in this discussion: the fallacy of confusing 
 an existence anteceding knowing with the object 
 which terminates and fulfils it. For knowing to 
 make a difference in its own final term is gross 
 self-stultification; it is none the less so when
 
 78 REALITY AS PRACTICAL 
 
 the aim of knowing is precisely to guide things 
 straight up to this term. When " truth " means the 
 accompHshed introduction of certain new differ- 
 ences into conditions, why be fooHsh enough to 
 make other and more differences, which are not 
 wanted since they are irrelevant and misleading ? 
 
 Were it not for the teachings of sad experience, 
 it would not be necessary to add that the change in 
 environment made by knowing is not a total or mi- 
 raculous change. Transformation, readjustment, 
 reconstruction all imply prior existences : existences 
 which have characters and behaviors of their 
 own which must be accepted, consulted, humored, 
 manipulated or made light of, in all kinds of 
 differing ways in the different contexts of different 
 problems. Making a difference in reality does not 
 mean making any more difference than we find 
 by experimentation can be made under the given 
 conditions — even though we may still hope for 
 different fortune another time under other cir- 
 cumstances. Still less does it mean making a thing 
 into an unreality, though the pragmatist is some- 
 times criticised as if any change in reality must be 
 a change into non-reality. There are diflficulties in- 
 deed, both dialectic, and real or practical, in the fact 
 of change — in the fact that only a permanent can 
 change and that change is alteration of a perma- 
 nent. But till we enjoin botanists and chemists 
 from referring to changes and transformations in 
 their subject-matter on the ground that for any-
 
 JOHN DEWEY 79 
 
 thing to change means for it to part with its 
 reaUty, we may as well permit the logician to 
 make similar references. 
 
 V 
 
 Sub specie aeternitatis ? or sub specie genera- 
 tionis ? I am susceptible to the aesthetic charm of 
 the former ideal — who is not ? There are moments 
 of relaxation : there are moments w^hen the demand 
 for peace, to be let alone and relieved from the 
 continual claim of the world in which we live that 
 we be up and doing something about it, seems 
 irresistible; when the responsibilities imposed by 
 living in a moving universe seem intolerable. We 
 contemplate with equal mind the thought of the 
 eternal sleep. But, after all, this is a matter in 
 which reality and not the philosopher is the court 
 of final jurisdiction. Outside of philosophy, the 
 question seems fairly settled ; in science, in poetry, 
 in social organization, in religion — wherever reli- 
 gion is not hopelessly at the mercy of a Frank- 
 enstein philosophy which it originally called into 
 being as its own slave. Under such circumstances 
 there is danger that the philosophy wiiich tries to 
 escape the form of generation by taking refuge 
 under the form of eternity will only come under 
 the form of a by-gone generation. To try to 
 escape from the snares and pitfalls of time by 
 recourse to traditional problems and interests
 
 80 REALITY AS PRACTICAL 
 
 — rather than that let the dead bury their own 
 dead. Better it is for philosophy to err in active 
 participation in the living struggles and issues of 
 its own age and times than to maintain an immune 
 monastic impeccability, without relevancy and 
 bearing in the generating ideas of its contemporary 
 present. In the one case, it will be respected, as 
 we respect all virtue that attests its sincerity by 
 sharing in the perplexities and failures, as well as 
 in the joys and triumphs, of endeavor. In the 
 other case, it bids fair to share the fate of what- 
 ever preserves its gentility, but not its activity, 
 in descent from better days; namely, to be 
 snugly ensconced in the consciousness of its own 
 respectability.
 
 A FACTOR IN THE GENESIS OF 
 IDEALISM
 
 A FACTOR IN THE GENESIS OF 
 IDEALISM 
 
 By Wendell T. Bush 
 
 In 1684 was published at Amsterdam a little 
 book, probably seldom read, entitled "Recueil de 
 quelques pieces curieuses concernant la philoso- 
 phic de Monsieur Descartes," attributed to Pierre 
 Bayle, The collection comprises six short pieces 
 together with an introduction by the compiler ; and 
 although these viewed as systematic philosophy 
 are of no particular interest, yet as a specimen of 
 the discussions which gathered about the Carte- 
 sian movement toward the end of the seventeenth 
 century, more than thirty years after the death of 
 Descartes, and as an index of the intellectual situa- 
 tion in which the Cartesian philosophy was obliged 
 to work out its development, the Recueil may be 
 deserving of some attention. 
 
 The editor laments the difficulty of publishing 
 books of liberal tendencies in France, where the 
 Inquisition "is making rapid progress." Publi- 
 cation without the official permit, extremely diffi- 
 cult to obtain for liberal books, meant that the 
 work thus issued could hardly be circulated. The 
 contents of the Recueil being on this account 
 
 83
 
 84 A FACTOR IN IDEALISM 
 
 extremely rare, the compiler caused them to be 
 published in Holland, where, inasmuch as the Refor- 
 mation had been politically successful, works on 
 philosophy were not liable to be suppressed in 
 the interest of Thomas Aquinas and the French 
 monarchy. 
 
 The first piece in the collection is the text of an 
 agreement between the Jesuits and the fathers of 
 the Oratory, according to which the latter under- 
 took to cease teaching certain opinions which the 
 former did not approve, and in particular to cease 
 teaching the Cartesian philosophy. The para- 
 graphs which bear directly upon the philosophy of 
 Descartes are as follows : " Dans la physique Ton ne 
 doit point s' eloigner de la physique ni des principes 
 de physique d'Aristote commun^ment re9us dans 
 les colleges pour s'attacher a la doctrine nouvelle 
 de Monsieur Descartes, que le Roi a defendu qu'on 
 enseignat pour de bonnes raisons. L'on doit 
 enseigner: 1. Que I'extension actuelle et ext^ri- 
 eure n'est pas de I'essence de la matiere. 2. Qu'en 
 chaque corps naturel il y a une forme substan- 
 tielle reellement distinguee de la matiere. 3. Qu'il 
 y a des accidens reels et absolus inh^rens k 
 leurs sujets, reellement distingues de toute autre 
 substance, et qui peuvent surnaturellement etre 
 sans aucun sujet. 4. Que Tame est reellement 
 presente et unie a tout le corps et a toutes 
 les parties du corps. 5. Que la pensee et la 
 connaissance n'est pas de I'essence de Fame
 
 WENDELL T. BUSH 85 
 
 raisonnable. 6. Qii'il n'y a aucime repugnance 
 que Dieu puisse produire plusieurs mondes a merae 
 temps. 7. Que le vide n'est pas impossible." 
 These propositions are preceded by certain re- 
 quirements in regard to instruction in theology, 
 the purpose of which can only have been to weaken 
 certain doctrines of Augustine, to whom the Ora- 
 tory was much attached. It is significant that 
 Augustine and Descartes are here included under 
 a common prohibition. 
 
 The second piece is in the nature of a reply to 
 the above agreement; it criticises particularly the 
 hostility of the Jesuits toward Saint Augustine and 
 their endeavor in the above-mentioned contract 
 to undermine his authority. 
 
 The editor's explanation of the third piece I will 
 transcribe. "To better understand the history of 
 the other pieces, you must know that in the year 
 1680 a Jesuit of Caen, the Pere de Valois, assuming 
 the name Louis de la Ville, published a treatise 
 entitled Sentimens de Monsieur Descartes touchani 
 V essence et les proprietes du corps opposes a la doc- 
 trine de Veglise et conformes aux erreurs de Calvin 
 sur le sujet de VEucharistie. He dedicated it to 
 the French clerg)' and exhorted the prelates to re- 
 pair at once the great evil Avith which the church 
 was threatened by the Cartesians. He begged them 
 in the name of France to pronounce sentence of 
 condemnation against Cartesianism, and in order 
 to influence them with a reason which he knew to
 
 86 A FACTOR IN IDEALISM 
 
 be all powerful in its effects upon their minds, he 
 referred to a decree of the council of state and to a 
 lettre de cachet which had forbidden the teaching 
 of a Cartesian professor. The book alarmed the 
 entire following of this philosophy; M. Regis, the 
 celebrated Cartesian, was obliged to break off his 
 lectures in Paris, and in addition, was unable to 
 obtain a license to publish a work on philosophy 
 which he had long since completed. Each feared 
 lest he be obliged to sign a declaration or be excom- 
 municated as a heretic. Thereupon M. Bernier . . . 
 caused to be printed secretly a little book, the third 
 piece in the collection, of which he distributed a 
 few copies to his friends and even to a few prelates. 
 He agrees that critics may say whatever they 
 please of the Cartesians, and he declares strongly 
 against some of their opinions in order the better 
 to make his peace ; and for the rest, having as much 
 reason as they to fear the charge of heresy in the 
 matter of transubstantiation, he does what he can 
 to establish his innocence." In general M. Ber- 
 nier's defence of the Cartesians takes the line, not 
 of denying their obligation to make their meta- 
 physics conform to the Council of Trent, but of 
 arguing that their Jesuit critic has not correctly 
 stated the orthodox position. This critic had written 
 with a particular animus against Malebranche, 
 and a portion of the essay discusses the nature of 
 original sin in infants. M. Bernier seeks to justify 
 Malebranche on this point against M. de la Ville.
 
 WENDELL T. BUSH 87 
 
 With sucli problems was the philosophy of that day 
 forced to occupy itself. 
 
 The fourth essay in the Recueil is a Memoir e pour 
 expliqucr la possibUite de la transubstantiation, 
 attributed to Malebranche. This essay, the editor 
 observes, was regarded with all the more suspicion 
 "since it explained the Roman Eucharist accord- 
 ing to the hypotheses of the new philosophy in a way 
 wholly different from that to be found in the writ- 
 ings of M. Descartes or of M. Rohault or of M. 
 Maignan." This new explanation was evidently 
 intended to meet the difficulty which the imagina- 
 tion encountered in assenting to the orthodox pos- 
 tulate that wherever there was a consecrated host 
 there existed the complete and entire body of 
 Christ. It is a unique case of the one and the 
 many, but since, says Malebranche, in any prod- 
 uct of art the unity of the created thing is derived 
 from the will of its creator, so the apparent diver- 
 sity of many bits of bread and many portions of 
 wine is no hindrance to their essential unity. 
 
 The fifth piece is by a professor at Sedan, pre- 
 sumably Bayle himself, and is a refutation of M. 
 de la Ville's efforts to disprove by the *' light of 
 reason" the Cartesian theory of the essence of 
 body. And now we come to the editor's statement 
 of his purpose in publishing this collection. "It 
 is clear that the Council of Trent has decided not 
 only that the body of Christ is present wherever 
 there are consecrated hosts, but also that all the
 
 88 A FACTOR IN IDEALISM 
 
 portions of his body interpenetrate each other. 
 It is clear from the book of M. de la Ville that this 
 decision is wholly incompatible with the doctrine 
 that the entire essence of matter is comprised in 
 its extension. It is clear from the comments of 
 M. Bernier and of Malebranche that their man- 
 ner of explaining transubstantiation is not that 
 w^hich is clearly contained in the words of the 
 Council. Finally it is clear from the dissertation 
 of the professor of Sedan that it is as impossible 
 for matter to be penetrated as it is for two things 
 to be equal when one is greater than another. It 
 is therefore clear that the Council of Trent decided 
 falsely when it spoke of the presence of Our Lord 
 upon the altars." If only the Roman Catholics 
 would avail themselves of clear and distinct ideas 
 in this matter, says Bayle, they would recognize 
 their errors and might then welcome the co- 
 operation of the Cartesians in formulating a doc- 
 trine of the Eucharist to which the followers of 
 Calvin could assent. 
 
 One essay remains. It is a series of ten medita- 
 tions modelled on the Meditations of Descartes. 
 A rather characteristic sentence may be quoted. 
 "My will . . . is an impression or a movement 
 that God has put into me by which he impels me 
 toward himself as all good and all being.'* 
 
 These little pieces were put together by a very 
 gifted man with a perfectly serious purpose. He 
 did not regard them, apparently, as unusual or
 
 WENDELL T. BUSH 89 
 
 eccentric. On the contrary, one's impression is that 
 he regarded them as entirely normal and reason- 
 able concerning a point of the utmost consequence. 
 Certainly if Bayle had not regarded the transub- 
 stantiation controversy as concerned with a genuine 
 and vital problem he would have shown a capacity 
 for intellectual detachment altogether exceptional. 
 And if he had regarded the problem as having a 
 social and political significance, rather than a truly 
 metaphysical one, he could not have discussed it 
 without reference to its metaphysical presuppo- 
 sitions. And now for the reflections which such a 
 book may stimulate. 
 
 When Descartes took a hand in helping along 
 the transition from the Middle Age there was much 
 concern lest he leave no place for saving an article 
 of faith to which the Middle Age had been particu- 
 larly attached, — the doctrine of transubstantiation. 
 This was a really burning issue; no philosopher 
 who desired a hearing in the French world of letters 
 could afford to be identified with the party of 
 Calvin, and uncertainty on the question of the 
 Eucharist pointed toward uncomfortable heresy. 
 Even Descartes, although not believing in the in- 
 dependent accidents, was persuaded to make two 
 attempts at reconciling his conception of substance 
 with the necessities of dogma, and several of the 
 minor Cartesians made enthusiastic endeavors to 
 explain the miracle of the Mass by the principles 
 of the new philosophy. The significance of these
 
 90 A FACTOR IN IDEALISM 
 
 undertakings, seemingly so unimportant for phi- 
 losophy, is by no means slight for the history of it. 
 In the process of putting off medisevalism, 
 western Europe endured the throes which we call 
 by the name of the Protestant Reformation. The 
 wars of religion in France had, to be sure, come to 
 an end, but the sentiments which those wars had 
 kept alive were still active, and if the fighting had 
 not been really for points of dogma, it was neverthe- 
 less under the banner of religious demands ; and the 
 party antipathies and social rivalries incidental to 
 the whole situation necessarily kept men's interest 
 tense and keen in whatever points of theology 
 might seem to be involved. The dogma at the 
 focus of things was the Eucharist, and the Council 
 of Trent had reaffirmed the orthodox position on 
 this matter with all the emphasis at its command. 
 While many speculative minds might be a Httle 
 weary of St. Thomas, they were the more anxious 
 for a plausible propping of their faith; for the 
 Reformation had brought with it a real quickening 
 of religious interest, and the dogma about which 
 so much passion had gathered got the benefit of 
 this revival. How should a thing so important, 
 seemingly so fundamental, as transubstantiation 
 have its existence solely in men's pious and inquis- 
 itorial minds ? For it must be remembered that 
 people were really excited about transubstantia- 
 tion, and the natural question to ask concerning 
 a new kind of philosophy was where it stood on
 
 WENDELL T. BUSH 91 
 
 this question. A man of such rare independence 
 and self-control as Descartes, with a bent of 
 genius which impelled him to the exact study of 
 nature, and with none of the obligations incidental 
 to a university position, could be indifferent to the 
 metaphysics of the Eucharist; but even so, such 
 indifference would probably result rather from 
 concentration upon his proper business than from 
 an insight into the mythical nature of the problem ; 
 and Descartes wished and tried to remove incon- 
 gruities between his philosophy and the popular 
 faith. With the most sincere good will, however, 
 the thing was impossible. The claim that exten- 
 sion constituted the essence of bodies would not 
 square with the necessities of the Tridentine dogma. 
 This did not seriously disturb Descartes. He could 
 seclude himseK in Holland and carry on patient 
 researches, withholding his conclusions, if that 
 seemed best, for publication after his death. But 
 the subsequent development of his doctrines he 
 must leave to others. How will it be when the fol- 
 lowers of the master lack his scientific genius, and 
 are, for the most part, university professors or 
 churchmen under the French monarchy at the 
 epoch of its culmination ? 
 
 This reference to transubstantiation may serve to 
 remind us of the atmosphere in which "modern" 
 philosophy, to speak conventionally, had its begin- 
 nings on the continent, and to orient us a little in 
 a period that intellectually must have been tlie
 
 92 A FACTOR IN IDEALISM 
 
 most exciting one since the time of Augustine. 
 The equanimity with which we to-day contem- 
 plate the group of rival metaphysical theories was 
 then undreamed of. The tradition was of a single 
 body of doctrine which had all the importance of 
 truth itself. The blend of Aristotle and Aquinas, 
 secure in the universities, was not to be ousted from 
 its strongholds by a new philosophical way of put- 
 ting things, unless the new way took account of 
 the problems that seemed important, and satisfied 
 certain dominant interests better than the Peripa- 
 tetic tradition could do. It was quite inevitable 
 therefore that, under the conditions provided, meta- 
 physics should continue to be concerned chiefly 
 with what we may call theological problems. Had 
 the Cartesians been anxious to avoid theological 
 issues, a persecution conducted by theological con- 
 servatives made such detachment impossible. Even 
 in Holland, the new philosophy was denounced 
 as contrary to the Bible and inimical to the civil 
 power. Descartes himself was called a Jesuit and 
 an atheist. In France Cartesianism was identified 
 with Calvinism and, what was more dangerous, 
 with Jansenism. Reference has already been 
 made to the agreement according to which the 
 Oratory, to avoid serious calamity, bound itself 
 to abjure Descartes, and to mutilate its interpre- 
 tation of Augustine. 
 
 I should perhaps apologize for dwelling upon 
 facts and conditions generally known and acces-
 
 WENDELL T. BUSH 93 
 
 sible to all in books which describe the period. 
 My excuse is that the bearing of these facts and 
 conditions upon the evolution of metaphysical 
 concepts has not been generally appreciated. His- 
 torians have not been suflficiently concerned with 
 philosophy, nor philosophers with history', to esti- 
 mate the influence of the sentiments of the later 
 Reformation upon subsequent philosophy, and to 
 relate certain modern results to these sources. 
 
 But to resume: the Cartesians did not wish to 
 avoid theological problems, for these seemed the 
 most important of all problems, and to provide 
 the special business of philosophy. The innova- 
 tors in metaphysics were engaged in combating 
 the system of philosophy endorsed by the Council 
 of Trent, and Cartesianism had, accordingly, a 
 certain kinship with the Reformation doctrines, 
 in so far as both Cartesians and Calvinists were 
 agents in the same process of historical tran- 
 sition. 
 
 The harrying of the Cartesians had its natural 
 result. In Holland they tried to prove that 
 Descartes was in the Bible and in France tliat he 
 was in Aristotle. Louis XIV sought to make 
 atonement by persecuting nonconformity. It was 
 no light matter for a man of prominence to defend 
 opinions obnoxious to the Jesuit order. Bouillier 
 (Histoire de la philosophie Cartesienne) states that 
 the most active persecution of the Cartesians was 
 during the period 1675-1G90. Although this per-
 
 94 A FACTOR IN IDEALISM 
 
 secution did not diminish the vogue of Cartesian- 
 ism, it did serve to keep metaphysics tied up to 
 theology. The whole situation could not fail to 
 develop habits of mind such that the problems of 
 philosophy expressed a theological tradition rather 
 than a free curiosity about nature and an interest 
 in man's natural welfare. 
 
 Very significant is the method by which the 
 opinions of Descartes were first publicly taught. 
 For a considerable time they had to be introduced 
 under the cloak of St. Augustine. One of the argu- 
 ments in support of the theory of animal automat- 
 ism is characteristic. Since animals have not 
 sinned, God would be unjust if they were to suffer 
 pain. And the facility with which Cartesianism 
 could be taught under the authority of Augustine 
 points to a feature of Descartes 's thought that is in 
 this connection of particular consequence. 
 
 Descartes in all his writings forces the idea of God 
 to the front, and seeks to give the impression that 
 the validity of all subsequent conclusions depends 
 upon the certainty of God's existence. All scien- 
 tific knowledge of nature and man is made to appear 
 as contingent upon a knowledge of God. This as- 
 pect of the new doctrine appears to have given the 
 liveliest satisfaction, and it is easily understood as 
 soon as we see how it reproduces the most funda- 
 mental conviction of the Reformation. This was 
 the Augustinian exaltation of God and belittling of 
 man. It was Augustine who supplied the patristic
 
 WENDELL T. BUSH 95 
 
 authority for the Reformation by his doctrine of 
 predestination, from which it followed that the 
 sacraments must be wholly ineffective as efi'orbs to 
 interfere in the distribution of grace. Man with 
 the burden of Adam's sin upon him was quite in- 
 capable of bringing his will into agreement with 
 God's will, without the gift of undeserved grace. 
 The opera operata could avail nothing. All de- 
 pended upon God in the matter of salvation, as it 
 did in the Cartesian epistemology, and therefore it 
 was that Descartes, although he was no Calvinist, 
 yet, being opposed to mediaivalism, could not fail 
 to be impressed with this, for his day, modern sen- 
 timent. For although the Reformation in France 
 had failed politically, yet the Augustinianism of 
 the movement had been taken up by those of the 
 clergy who, while aiming at the mo.>t i)erfect ortho- 
 dox), yet wished to purify the church of all that 
 had given just ground for criticism. This really 
 spiritual wave of the Catholic reaction bore Des- 
 cartes into the haven of popular approval in 
 France. His demonstrations of the existence of 
 God and the immortality of the soul gave such 
 satisfaction that Cartesianism came to be regarded 
 as the precious ally of conservative religious faith. 
 But if the backing of the Oratory wiis worth so 
 much to Cartesianism, it could not fail to influence 
 its subsequent tendencies by keeping the attention 
 of "philosophers" concentrated upon the meta- 
 physical presuppositions involved in tlie idea of
 
 96 A FACTOR IN IDEALISM 
 
 the soul, separable from the body, the vehicle of 
 sin and the object of grace. 
 
 There is nothing remarkable, then, in recognizing 
 that the opinions, on what seemed fundamental 
 problems, of the men who were engaged in win- 
 ning an intellectual emancipation from Thomas 
 Aquinas, constituted the natural metaphysics of 
 what we call the Protestant Reformation. The 
 affinity with Augustine was immediately recog- 
 nized and made use of; in the Occasionalists we 
 find very frankly stated that entire dependence of 
 man upon God which the reformers were so fond 
 of emphasizing, while both the Cartesians and 
 the Huguenot party were fighting the same enemy, 
 the authority of the scholastic tradition. The 
 effect of it all is that modern philosophy has been, 
 in the main, not free inquiry but Protestant meta- 
 physics, and its central problem, the problem of 
 knowledge, has been determined, not by an exam- 
 ination of cognitive experience but by an elabora- 
 tion of traditional preconceptions in harmony with 
 the dominant interests of the later Reformation. 
 The problem of knowledge naturally arose as soon 
 as the Cartesian ideas of substance made knowl- 
 edge a mystery. The definition of the soul, how- 
 ever, after the manner of " conscious substance," 
 denying to it all power of affecting or being affected 
 by the world about it, actually proved to be particu- 
 larly gratifying to a very large public, as it seemed 
 to be a sufficient demonstration of the soul's im-
 
 WENDELL T. BUSH 97 
 
 mortality; and it was to be expected that these 
 presuppositions which made knowledge something 
 wholly unintelligible should be nursed and forti- 
 fied. The immense vogue enjoyed by Malebranche, 
 the pride in his development of Cartesianism, the 
 authority conceded to his pious metaphysics, re- 
 veal clearly enough the inevitable current. 
 
 Another circumstance which kept philosophy in 
 the land of impassioned mythology was the burden 
 of responsibility for Spinoza. "Is Descartes the 
 father and the accomplice of Spinoza, or is his 
 philosophy the antidote of Spinozism ? Is Des- 
 cartes the builder or the destroyer of the new doc- 
 trine, Spinozismi architectus aut eversor? according 
 to the titles of polemical tvtI tings on opposite sides. 
 This was the question debated from the start 
 with singular vivacity^ between the Cartesians of 
 Holland and their opponents. Moreover, the two 
 parties competed with one another in casting abuse 
 and anathemas at the wretched autlior, and the 
 Cartesians exclaimed the louder, in order to avert 
 from themselves the suspicion of having anything 
 in common with this man." ^ And in Leibniz we 
 find a man of altogether exceptional gifts dishing 
 up the old wine of mediaeval faith, and seeking to 
 reconcile the two confessions on the problem of the 
 Eucharist. 
 
 Meanwhile, British philosophy, starting with 
 the same conception of knowledge, as the states of 
 
 ' Bouillier: "Histoire de la philosophic Cart^sienne," Vol. I, p. 416. 
 
 7
 
 98 A FACTOR IN IDEALISM 
 
 an ambiguous substance, developed in an environ- 
 ment characterized by the attempt to base theo- 
 logical guarantees upon innate ideas, by the deistic 
 controversy, and by a certain influence of Carte- 
 sian thought. That little discourse between five 
 or six friends which brought the participants to a 
 stand and was the occasion of Locke's "Essay" 
 was concerned, we are told, with the principles of 
 morality and revealed religion. However empirical 
 Locke's own temperament may have been, he was 
 quite unable to disregard the problems that agi- 
 tated the world about him. Calvinistic theology 
 was in the ascendant, and Locke grew up among 
 the English dissenters. It was not likely that any 
 one made of milder stuff than Hobbes would be 
 sufficiently sceptical about the soul to doubt its 
 capacity to become the locus of mental processes. 
 Whether we use the term soul, mind, or conscious 
 substance makes no particular difference. " The 
 soul " is the parent concept of all such notions. The 
 history of British philosophy shows an increasing 
 emphasis upon "states" of mind, and an increas- 
 ing scepticism toward the "substance" supporting 
 them. Taking the concept of conscious substance 
 naively, as did the Cartesians, states of conscious- 
 ness are evidently the accidents of this type of sub- 
 stance, and when the substance has been criticised 
 away, as by Hume, or given a radically different 
 meaning, as by Leibniz, consciousness, like the 
 independent accidents of the Mass, becomes a com-
 
 WENDELL T. BUSH 99 
 
 plete and finished metaphysical instrument. The 
 separation accompHshed, physiological arguments 
 serve to justify it; they may even have made tlie 
 separation easier; but without the conception of a 
 soul and its states, a mind with its ideas and impres- 
 sions, it is hard to see how such a notion as con- 
 sciousness could ever have been born. 
 
 The soul : w^hence came such a singular idea as 
 that of this immaterial, immortal, cognitive entity ? 
 It was natural for Christian metaphysics to lay 
 great stress on the individual subject of salvation. 
 It was natural for the soul, w^hose precarious state 
 was the justification of the church, to take a prom- 
 inent place in the dogmatics of Augustine, But 
 there is nothing like a controversy to call forth the 
 full measure of ingenuity and eloquence in de- 
 fence of such an idea, and the current emanation 
 theories, particularly as defended by tlie Mani- 
 chseans, had implications which so vahant a 
 churchman could not tolerate. 
 
 If we assume the agency of a literary tradition, 
 the presumption is that the soul doctrine came to 
 Augustine from Plato. There is ratlier much in 
 Plato about the soul. It seemed to him extremely 
 important to prove its immortality, but Plato 
 knows no problem as to the existence of the soul. 
 That is never questioned. This perplexing thing, 
 the seat of personahty, imprisoned for the time 
 being in the body and contaminated by it, the 
 source of motion, the principle of life, — one
 
 100 A FACTOR IN IDEALISM 
 
 would like to know where Plato got such a curious 
 idea. Nearly all primitive races might, no doubt, 
 have provided him with something of the sort. 
 Actually, however, the idea appears to have been 
 the chief concern of the contemporary mystery 
 organizations, in which the conception of the soul 
 was made to do very much the same kind of serv- 
 ice it did for Plato ; and its injection into philoso- 
 phy may well have a good deal to do with its 
 usefulness for the purposes of the Orphic cults. 
 
 The question of the origin of the soul-idea is a 
 problem in the study of primitive culture. The 
 experience of dreams, the mysteries of birth and 
 death, customs of totemism, the imitative magic of 
 harvest rites, in such phenomena must the notion 
 of soul have originated. Or, if we regard the Or- 
 phic mysteries as the beginning of that tradition 
 which has dominated the history of philosophy 
 even down to the present day, then the concept of 
 consciousness, or its parent concept, the soul, may 
 yet be traced, perhaps confidently, to the blood of 
 the bull Dionysos. 
 
 But whether the line of tradition from primitive 
 beliefs to the metaphysics of the seventeenth cen- 
 tury was the one here suggested, or whether the 
 connection was through other channels, makes no 
 difference to the main thesis of this paper. His- 
 torically, the concept of consciousness was evolved 
 by cutting conscious substance away from its own 
 accidents. The notion of such a substance derives
 
 WENDELL T. BUSH lOl 
 
 ultimately from primitive culture. These consid- 
 erations may be philosophically irrelevant, but they 
 ought to interest that small though growing num- 
 ber of students who beheve that history should be 
 history even though it be the history of philosophy. 
 If the Renaissance could have run its course un- 
 confused by the odium theologicum, tlie rediscovery 
 of nature and man might have brought philosophy 
 down from heaven to earth, to find there her natural 
 occupation. But this was not to be. There was the 
 Reformation and the Council of Trent and the 
 Thirty Years' War; Calvin, Port Royal, Male- 
 branche, and Leibniz. Was it not inevitable that, 
 not nature and man as humanly experienced, but 
 the soul, the w'orld and the deity as metaphysically 
 conceived, should be the theme of "modern" phi- 
 losophy ? Why be surprised tliat the metaphysics 
 based on the concept of consciousness seems to have 
 more to do with some other world than with this 
 one ? It is the pride of idealism that instead of 
 guiding the work of actual knowledge, instead of 
 throwing helpful light on the technique of discovery, 
 this type of philosophy has, in the main, issued in 
 religious metaphysics. Nevertheless, the initiators 
 of modern philosophy were surely seeking some- 
 thing very different, and from their point of view 
 this failure to escape from theological reminiscence 
 must appear as fundamental failure. 
 
 It has been my purpose to ask why this is so, 
 and to suggest the lines along which an intelligible
 
 102 A FACTOR IN IDEALISM 
 
 answer could be attempted. The recent meta- 
 physics which has sought to guarantee a "spir- 
 itual" conception of things has been erected on 
 the foundation of an animistic survival from primi- 
 tive culture. That philosophers themselves have 
 shown for the most part little interest in such his- 
 torical connections is readily understood. Not 
 many years have elapsed since most of the com- 
 petent thinkers in the field of metaphysics defended 
 one form or another of idealism, and a certain com- 
 placent assurance of being at least on the right 
 track made most of them indisposed to regard 
 their "truth" as an historical episode; while one 
 effect of the theory of evolution has been the dis- 
 position to assume that the most significant thing 
 about the past is that it was a preparation for the 
 present. And as for the present, it seems inevit- 
 ably human to regard it, not as history, but as a 
 specimen of eternity. 
 
 When Professor James asked his epoch-making 
 question "Does consciousness exist .'^" he let in the 
 kind of light that is often more salutary than wel- 
 come. Not less emancipating was his declared 
 belief that consciousness is "the faint rumor left 
 behind by the disappearing 'soul' upon the air of 
 philosophy."
 
 CONSCIOUSNESS A FORM OF ENERGY
 
 CONSCIOUSNESS A FORM OF ENERGY 
 
 By Wm. Pepperrell Montague 
 
 1 HE most perplexing and perhaps the most cen- 
 tral of philosophical problems is the problem of 
 the nature of consciousness and the manner of its 
 relation to the world which it reveals, but in which 
 it also abides. A physical influence of some sort, 
 a fact accessible to the external perception of more 
 than one observer, is propagated along a nerve 
 fibre, and at a certain period in its progress there 
 occurs a fact of an entirely different nature, to wit, 
 a psychical fact which is accessible to the internal 
 perception of only one observer. Nature in her 
 transmutations of energy affords many instances of 
 disparateness between the antecedent and conse- 
 quent stages of a process, but in none of them is 
 the consequent a member of a different order of 
 being from that of the antecedent. Between the 
 consciousness of an object or of a quahty and the 
 neural process which antecedes and perhaps accom- 
 panies that consciousness there is a difference far 
 transcending all differences of quality, magnitude, 
 time, and place with which physics is conversant. 
 The system of physical objects seems to be a closed 
 
 105
 
 106 CONSCIOUSNESS AS ENERGY 
 
 system, complete in itself, in which no room can 
 be found for the individual's consciousness of those 
 objects. And yet the consciousness of objects is 
 an undeniable consequence of certain processes in 
 those objects. Now it is at once the aim and the 
 duty of science to reveal everywhere the hidden 
 continuity that must underlie the most seem- 
 ingly discontinuous of changes. And the great- 
 ness of the change from stimulus to sensation may 
 in nowise excuse a neglect of the puzzle presented 
 therein. 
 
 The clear- thinking Cartesians were the first to 
 realize the crucial nature of the psychophysical 
 problem, and the first to make a sustained and 
 serious attempt at its solution. They failed; and 
 those who came after inherited from them not 
 their fine passion for the problem itself but only 
 that false antithesis of consciousness and extension 
 which had made failure inevitable. Since then 
 there have been several attempts to explain away 
 the problem by means of a general idealistic meta- 
 physic, or to restate it in such a way that the differ- 
 ence between physical and psychical should appear 
 as a purely functional or methodological distinc- 
 tion. But for the most part both science and phi- 
 losophy have resigned themselves to the acceptance 
 of an inexplicable concomitance or "parallelism" 
 between the physical and psychical series of events, 
 a working hypothesis that is relatively independent 
 of ultimate theories concerning the primacy of one
 
 WM. PEPPERRELL MONTAGUE 107 
 
 or the other of these series. Quite recently, how- 
 ever, there has grown up both here and abroad a 
 new interest in the nature of consciousness and a 
 new kind of protest against the epistemology of 
 ideahsm. These current attempts to revive real- 
 ism by combining with it a direct or presentative 
 theory of knowledge (the "new realism"), and cor- 
 relatively to define consciousness as a relation be- 
 tween objects rather than a substance in which 
 they inhere, promise much of interest and value. 
 But I believe that they will fall short of their 
 own ideal, should they persist in separating the 
 problem of the nature of consciousness from the 
 problem of its genesis. A definition of conscious- 
 ness either as a relation of implicativeness which 
 under certain conditions subsists between objects 
 (Woodbridge) , or as a diaphanous medium through 
 which on occasion objects are united (G. E. 
 Moore), seems to me to require supplementation. 
 For such definitions, however apt in their estimates 
 of the properties of a psychosis as revealed in 
 introspection, are not designed to throw light upon 
 the physical and physiological conditions of its 
 origin. Nor can the psychophysical problem which 
 so perplexed the Cartesians be brusquely dis- 
 missed as a question pertaining exclusively to the 
 mechanism of consciousness. If evolution has 
 taught us anything in scientific method, it has 
 taught us that a sound definition will throw light 
 on the genesis of that which is defined. Now it is
 
 108 CONSCIOUSNESS AS ENERGY 
 
 by no accident that the mind has a body ; and the 
 fact that sensations follow upon stimuli is not irrel- 
 evant to the nature of sensations. The problem 
 of the nature of consciousness is, in short, irremedi- 
 ably involved in the problem of its mechanism, and 
 the latter problem is dual, including as it does the 
 question of how conscious elements are related to 
 neural currents, and the broader question of the 
 relation of consciousness as a whole to the living 
 organism, without which as a matrix the mind 
 could neither begin nor, so far as we yet know, 
 continue to exist. 
 
 In the following investigation of the nature 
 of the psychical, I propose to examine conscious- 
 ness (1) from the standpoint of introspection; 
 (2) from the external standpoint of its relation to 
 stimuli. Lack of space precludes consideration of 
 the third and still larger problem which concerns 
 the relation of consciousness to the general life- 
 process of the individual. 
 
 Consciousness from within: Psychosis 
 and Hylosis 
 
 When we examine introspectively (or retrospec- 
 tively) a direct perceptual experience, it appears 
 to contain (1) elements which, while they momen- 
 tarily belong to our experience, seem in no sense 
 to be its peculiar property. We regard these ele-
 
 WM. PEPPERRELL MONTAGUE 109 
 
 ments as mere sojourners and transients in our 
 consciousness, entering or leaving it at pleasure, 
 belonging at the same time to other experiences 
 than ours and capable of existing in their own right 
 apart from any of these experiences. Such objects 
 are the chairs, stones, stars, animals, etc., that we 
 call physical. We find (2) a quite different set of 
 elements, such as feelings, desires, volitions, etc., 
 which seem to stand in no such loose and dissoluble 
 relations to our experience. We can conceive of 
 them neither as parts of another experience nor as 
 capable of subsisting in their own right apart from 
 any experience or consciousness of them. These 
 elements are called psychical. We find (3) a cer- 
 tain relational form or structure applicable to the 
 experience as a whole, and also to the psychical 
 parts of it, but not applicable to the first named 
 or physical elements. The physical elements are 
 then distinguished from the psychical not only by 
 their capacity to exist in many experiences or in 
 none, but also by their possessing a form or struc- 
 ture that is in some respects the antithesis of the 
 psychical structure, which latter is also the structure 
 of the experience as a whole ; and it is in their con- 
 trast of structure rather than in their contrast of 
 content that the most promising basis for a clear 
 distinction between physical and psychical is to be 
 found. 
 
 The problem of further defining the psychical is 
 indeed complicated at the outset by the consider-
 
 110 CONSCIOUSNESS AS ENERGY 
 
 ation that while the physical is capable of becom- 
 ing a part of the psychical system, from which it is 
 to be distinguished, yet from another point of view 
 the physical world may be regarded as itself con- 
 taining the totality of the very experiences which 
 reveal and contain it. We might compare the 
 situation to a lake in which there were a number 
 of whirlpools, through each one of which all the 
 water flowed or could flow. The water (physi- 
 cal objects) could then be said to be contained in 
 the whirlpools (consciousnesses), while at the 
 same time the whirlpools themselves would be 
 in their turn contained in the water of the lake. 
 Let us seek to formulate the differences in 
 structure of these two curiously interpenetrating 
 systems. 
 
 The physical world and every portion of that 
 world is a system in which the plurality of the 
 elements is primary and the unity of the system is 
 secondary. Every material object is conceived as 
 being susceptible of indefinite division and sub- 
 division into parts. Whatever is physical is es- 
 sentially plural; such unity as pertains to it is 
 factitious or external. This essential divisibility or 
 compositeness of material objects is the real justifi- 
 cation for formulating their behavior in terms of 
 atomistic and mechanistic analysis. We never 
 rest satisfied with the view of one object influenc- 
 ing another by means of its nature or quality, for 
 we know that that nature or quaUty is dependent
 
 WM. PEPPERRELL MONTAGUE 111 
 
 upon the parts of the thing and upon their rela- 
 tions. And the reduction of quahty to quantity in 
 the physical world rests on the fact that qualities 
 act only vicariously ; never in their own right but 
 always as the correlates of spatio-temporal relations. 
 The static aspect of this truth is evidenced in our 
 appreciation of the impossibility of a quality or 
 universal having physical existence apart from 
 matter. It must inhere in the latter as its state or 
 accident. In the material world a thing must be 
 before it can be somewhat. 
 
 Let us turn now to a consideration of the struc- 
 ture of a psychosis, by which term is meant an 
 individual's consciousness -of- objects or total experi- 
 ence at any given moment. Like a material system 
 (which for convenience we may name a "hylo- 
 sis"), every psychosis possesses both unity and 
 variety. But the plurality of elements in a psychi- 
 cal system is always secondary and subordinate to 
 its unity as a whole. My experience of ten inches 
 is by no means composed of ten one- inch experi- 
 ences. I cannot possibly imagine that experience 
 divided up into separable parts. And as in the ma- 
 terial system we found the compositeness of the 
 whole reflected in the compositeness of each of its 
 parts, so in the psychosis we find the unity and in- 
 divisibility of the whole repeated in the similar 
 unity and indivisibility of each psychical element. 
 My consciousness of the room, for example, in- 
 cludes my consciousness of the table. The con-
 
 112 CONSCIOUSNESS AS ENERGY 
 
 sciousness of the table includes the consciousness 
 of the table's legs. But it would be as impossible 
 to separate my consciousness of the table-legs from 
 the consciousness of the other parts of the table, as 
 to separate my consciousness of the table from my 
 consciousness of the room. Unity or indivisibility 
 is as fundamental a property of the experiencing 
 manifold as plurality or divisibility is of the experi- 
 enced manifold. We must not interpret this to 
 mean that the physical world lacks quality and 
 unity or that the psychical lacks quantity and plu- 
 rality. Each order contains as much of both quan- 
 tity and quality as does the other; only in the 
 physical world it is the qualities that are secondary 
 and factitious while in the psychical the reverse is 
 true. But let us see to what extent this abstract 
 formulation of the differentia of the psychical can 
 serve to explain certain of its other and more 
 familiar properties. 
 
 The first of these subsidiary characteristics to 
 which I would call attention is the psychical status 
 of class -concepts, universals or attributes in their 
 relation to the particular things in which they in- 
 here. It often happens in my own experience, and 
 I presume in that of others, that the quality of a 
 sensation is perceived before the local sign or par- 
 ticular place to which that quality will be referred. 
 A sound or even a color is appreciated as such and 
 only later is it viewed as an attribute inhering along 
 with other attributes in a particular object. And
 
 WM. PEPPERRELL MONTAGUE 113 
 
 as, in direct experience, the only meaning we can 
 give to a "thing" in distinction from its "states" is 
 the definite position in the spatio-temporal system 
 in which those states or qualities are exemplified, I 
 interpret this felt priority of a quality to its local 
 sign as justifying in the sphere of a psychosis the 
 Platonic contention of the primacy of class-jorms 
 or natures to the class-members which embody them. 
 And if this primacy be questioned in the case of 
 sense experience, I feel sure it will be accepted as 
 holding true of the more conceptual phases of our 
 mental life. We have to know the meaning of a 
 general term before we can apply it to particular 
 objects. The members of a class are, for thought, 
 primarily only the more or less accidental embodi- 
 ments of a certain nature or meaning. And this 
 latter may be analyzed and discussed in complete 
 disregard of whether or not it happens to be actu- 
 aUzed here, there, or anywhere. Professor Wood- 
 worth's discovery of the imageless or non-sensorial 
 elements of many clearly defined topics of thought 
 and plans of action gives striking emphasis to the 
 truth in question ; though even without appeal to 
 these non-sensory elements it seems to me, as I 
 have said, easy to imagine a specific nature without 
 also imagining it as existing at a particular place, 
 i. e., as a particular object. I can certainly think of 
 making a journey to San Francisco without con- 
 sidering whether I shall go by way of Chicago or 
 by way of St. Louis, this week or next week or 
 
 8
 
 114 CONSCIOUSNESS AS ENERGY 
 
 never. What the British nominahsts thought they 
 had proved was the impossibiHty of conceiving uni- 
 versal or abstractions. What they really did prove 
 was the impossibility of conceiving universals or 
 abstractions as particular physical objects. The 
 same innocent and irrelevant truism had been tri- 
 umphantly established, some centuries before, by 
 Aristotle against Plato in the Tptros avOpoiiroq. In 
 a psychical system the universal is primary and the 
 particular secondary for the same reason that in a 
 physical system the reverse is true — that reason 
 being that the quantity and plurality of a physical 
 system underlie its quality and unity, while in the 
 psychical system it is the unity and quality that are 
 fundamental. That the mind is the place of forms 
 is one of the well-known criteria for distinguishing 
 it from matter, and is directly deducible from the 
 differentia that we have adopted. 
 
 A second and even more familiar characteristic 
 of the psychosis is its capacity for past and future 
 events, for memory images, and for ideals. In the 
 physical world the present is real; the past was 
 and the future will be real, but only the present 
 is. It is then a distinguishing feature of tlie 
 psychical that in each present moment of its 
 flow the past not only was but is present — as 
 remembered, and the future not only will be but is 
 present — as imagined. We might put it this way : 
 at or in each moment of physical time only that 
 one moment is present, while within the unity of
 
 WM. PEPPERRELL MONTAGUE 115 
 
 each moment of psychical time, many other mo- 
 ments both past and future are present. This 
 curious capacity of the psychical to extend in time, 
 although it has been made the basis for the time- 
 less egoes of subjective idealism, is in no wise in- 
 compatible with the mind's presence in time. It is 
 this extra dimension which more than any one thing 
 gives to the conscious being his supreme advantage 
 in competing with beings not conscious, enabling 
 him, as it does, to respond to the impulse of the 
 moment in the light of past knowledge and future 
 needs. And yet this temporal unity of specious 
 past and future in each actual present is but an- 
 other aspect of the unity of my perception of one 
 part of the spatial field with my perception of the 
 other parts of that field. 
 
 A third of these subsidiary marks of the psychi- 
 cal, and one closely consequent upon tlie last, is 
 the purposive or teleological character of mental 
 causality as contrasted with the "blind" or me- 
 chanical causality of the physical world. The 
 goal of a conscious process is present from the be- 
 ginning and takes an active part in selecting the 
 links that lead up to its realization. This would 
 be an impossible paradox in a purely material 
 system, for the future as such has no physical ex- 
 istence except at the moment when it ceases to be 
 future ; and all causes act on the instant, ab extra 
 or mechanically, the telos of the process playing 
 no part in its own actualization. In a psychosis
 
 116 CONSCIOUSNESS AS ENERGY 
 
 the individual elements instead of being self- 
 existent constituents of an aggregate are each of 
 them subordinate both in their being and in their 
 behavior to the structure or form of their system. 
 If the tendency of the system as a whole be identi- 
 cal with the tendency of one of its elements, then 
 in the ensuing process that element will have a 
 very peculiar prominence. Though not neces- 
 sarily strong in its own right it will act catalytically 
 as a kind of centre about which the other elements 
 will gradually be distributed. A possibility-element 
 in a psychosis differs from a fact- element in not 
 being able to maintain itself except by aid of other 
 elements. When we experience a future ideal in 
 process of gradually attaining to what we call actu- 
 alization, we note its passage from a parasitic or 
 dependent position in our psychosis to a status of 
 self-dependence and self- existence. And when 
 the process is voluntary we perceive the other ele- 
 ments contributing to this change of status in re- 
 sponse to the demands of the system as a whole. 
 Factuality, indeed, differs from possibility not 
 merely as present and past differ from future, but 
 as the fixed and must-be-admitted differ from the 
 dismissible- at- pleasure. Facts are. They are 
 also stubborn. Ideals are unborn things of the 
 future; they dwell dimly in the conceptual fringe 
 of our consciousness and clamor or plead accord- 
 ing to their natures for us to incarnate them in its 
 perceptual nucleus of fact. Teleological causation
 
 WM. PEPPERRELL MONTAGUE 117 
 
 is not then the mere influence of a conceived future 
 element upon other elements of the psychosis. Self- 
 active and self-directive, it is a movement of crys- 
 tallization on the part of the psychosis as a whole 
 towards and around one of its own members — a, 
 movement in which the factual elements are, de- 
 spite their individual tendencies, made to adapt 
 themselves to the reception into their own order 
 of the element which, though present with them, is 
 nevertheless future and so of a different order. 
 
 Thus, inadequately, I have attempted to depict 
 the three traditional marks by which conscious- 
 ness is contrasted with the real though passing 
 show of its physical objects. These marks of 
 mind were (1) its capacity for forms or universals; 
 (2) its capacity for the non- actual things of the 
 past and future, and (3) its capacity for self- 
 directed and teleological causality : — psychical 
 realism versus physical nominalism ; psychical time- 
 extension versus physical flux; psychical finahty 
 versus physical mechanism. I have tried further 
 to show that these three capacities are merely three 
 different expressions of that general character of 
 the psychical or private aspect of experience which 
 I accepted as the basis of its definition, viz., its es- 
 sential unity and indivisibility as based upon the 
 primacy of the structure or form of the system con- 
 sidered collectively as a whole over the plurality of 
 its elements considered distributively as an aggre- 
 gate. We have now to take the second step in our
 
 118 CONSCIOUSNESS AS ENERGY 
 
 problem and to investigate the process in which the 
 events of a psychosis are consequent upon physical 
 events in the brain. 
 
 II 
 
 Consciousness from Without: Intensive Sensation 
 and Kinetic Stimulus 
 
 We are at the outset confronted with a certain 
 postulate or assumption, adopted by the Cartesians 
 and by almost all later philosophers. The assump- 
 tion was as natural and excusable as it was false 
 and mischievous ; unless it can be refuted any 
 attempt to solve the psychophysical problem must 
 appear futile. This momentous postulate is the 
 expression of a twofold exaggeration of that dis- 
 tinction between psychical and physical which has 
 been described above. Direct experience together 
 with profound insight into scientific method con- 
 vinced Descartes that matter was fundamentally 
 quantitative or spatial, infinitely divisible, and 
 controlled by mechanical law, and that mind, on 
 the other hand, was teleological, indivisible, and 
 qualitative. In the first flush of enthusiasm over 
 this true discovery it was falsely inferred to mean 
 that matter was nothing but quantitative and that 
 mind was nothing but qualitative. The result was 
 a dual denudation of the physical and psychical 
 orders. All true or non- quantitative qualities, i. e., 
 all *^ secondary "' quxilities were removed from the
 
 \\M. PEPPERRELL MONTAGUE 119 
 
 material world and dumped bodily into the mind, 
 that mind being at the same time and from a similar 
 motive deprived of all real extension and real pres- 
 ence in the physical world of its objects. And in 
 place of two contrasting relational nexuses, ex- 
 hibiting contrasting types of behavior, there en- 
 sued the extraordinary conception of two separate 
 realms of events, — a physical realm pre-empting all 
 real space and over against this a psychical realm 
 which not being in space was nowhere at all, 
 though of course quite "real." The appalling 
 dualism thus begotten speedily led all who could 
 clearly realize its implications to abandon any 
 conception of a causal relation between the two 
 sundered halves of the universe. All true causal- 
 ity involves a transfer of influence or energ\' from 
 the causal agent to the patient on which the effect 
 is produced. But energy cannot be transferred 
 from somewhere to nowhere, and back again from 
 the nowhere of the mind to the space of the brain 
 and the physical world. Such a "transfer," if it 
 could mean anything, would mean that energy 
 was annihilated in sensation and created in voli- 
 tion. It was the recognition of this implication 
 that led quite properly to the doctrine of the con- 
 servation of energy being invoked as an additional 
 argument against any interaction of physical and 
 psychical. Nothing was left but to describe the 
 synchronous and thoroughly correlated occurrences 
 in the two realms as a mysterious relation of "par-
 
 120 CONSCIOUSNESS AS ENERGY 
 
 allelism." And in spite of the growing demands 
 of Darwinian biology on the one hand and of 
 common-sense and direct experience on the 
 other, psychophysical parallelism, which when 
 properly interpreted means automatism or the 
 epiphenomality of consciousness, stands to-day 
 as the scandalous but irrefutable consequence of 
 postulating a material world without qualities 
 and a world of minds that lack spatiality and 
 exist — nowhere. 
 
 As I have elsewhere^ argued in detail against 
 this postulate, I may confine myself here to a very 
 summary statement of what seem to me to be its 
 several invalidities : 
 
 1. Each man feels his consciousness to pervade 
 not only his body but the outer space in which his 
 objects appear. This immediate revelation in ex- 
 perience of the spatially extended nature of con- 
 sciousness is not and is not felt to be in the 
 least incompatible with its intensive unity and 
 indivisibility. 
 
 2. The fact that each consciousness feels itself 
 to pervade the visible space in which its objects 
 appear is not and is not felt to be incompatible 
 with the equally intuitive conviction that that con- 
 sciousness could never be visible or in any way 
 accessible to the external perception of another ob- 
 server. To the eye of such an external observer 
 the space occupied by consciousness would always 
 
 ' The Monist, January, 1908, " Are Mental Processes in Space ? "
 
 WM. PEPPERRELL MONTAGUE 121 
 
 appear filled with the purely physical objects of 
 matter and motion. 
 
 3. The real presence in physical objects of 
 qualities such as are perceived in them is in no 
 sense incompatible with the true behef that such 
 qualities are in themselves inefficacious in the pro- 
 duction of physical changes, that they are each of 
 them correlated with or inherent in the spatial 
 and purely mechanical relations of material par- 
 ticles, and that it is in these quantitative correlates 
 of qualities that true explanations are to be sought. 
 
 Suppose, now, that we are freed from the para- 
 doxical antithesis of consciousness and space, — 
 how does the psychophysical problem present it- 
 self ? A physical influence or stimulus which 
 though not lacking quality is primarily quantita- 
 tive and accessible to the external sense of many 
 observers is transmitted along a sensor}' nerve and 
 appears to give rise to a sensation or psychical 
 state which though not lacking in quantit}^ and 
 spatiality is accessible to the internal perception 
 of only one observer. TJiat this happens is an 
 obvious fact easily verifiable in any experience 
 and not to be got rid of by any metaphysical or 
 methodological theory whatsoever. But can we 
 conceive how it happens ? A clew to the answer 
 is, I believe, to be found in a certain type of occur- 
 rence in the physical world. When an elastic body 
 collides with a fixed barrier, the motion of the 
 body gradually decreases to zero and then begins
 
 122 CONSCIOUSNESS AS ENERGY 
 
 to increase again in an opposite direction up to 
 almost its original amount. At the moment prior 
 to the rebound there is no motion in any direction ; 
 for before a reflected motion southward can begin, 
 the incident northward motion must wholly cease. 
 The motion in the world is not conserved in the 
 sense of being the same in amount at every mo- 
 ment of existence. But energy is supposed to be 
 conserved in just this sense. Hence, energy is of 
 two kinds, of which visible motion is one; and it 
 is only the sum of the two phases that is constant. 
 The energy which is not motion but into which 
 and from which motion passes is called potential. 
 Naturally, the nature of this invisible type of energy 
 is a question of some interest. There are, I under- 
 stand, three theories of its nature. (1) There is 
 the theory that it is some sort of invisible motion 
 (other than heat) of the particles of a body into 
 which the molar motion is transformed. This 
 appears untenable for the reason that precisely 
 the same problem will necessarily recur in connec- 
 tion with these particles, no matter how tiny they 
 are made or how often we subdivide them. Two 
 particles collide, lose their motions, and regain them 
 in opposite directions. What becomes of the energy 
 of these little motions during the moment of their 
 redirection? (2) There is the theory that the kin- 
 etic energy of elastic bodies prior to coUision passes 
 at the moment of collision into nothing and comes 
 out again from nothing quite fresh, and unchanged
 
 WM. PEPPERRELL MONTAGUE 123 
 
 in form or quantity. This is the view of potential 
 energy that seems most in favor at present. Ac- 
 cording to it, potential energy is really nothing but 
 potential. It is in no sense actual, but is just the 
 sheer possibility of a certain quantity of motion. 
 In favor of this conception it might be said, I 
 suppose, that potential energy is not and from its 
 very nature cannot be perceptible to external ob- 
 servers ; that it is consequently not actual in any 
 intelligible sense. And again, that to consider it 
 as actual would be, if not absurd, at least useless, 
 for it is only measurable indirectly, in terms of 
 the motion of which it is the promise. (3) There 
 is finally the older view that potential energy is 
 stress or force; that as such it is just as actual 
 as the motion from which it has come, and into 
 which it will pass; that it is "potential" only with 
 respect to motion, and that motion might with 
 equal propriety be called potential energy of stress. 
 In favor of this third view it might be said : I. 
 That it has never been empirically refuted, is still 
 held by some physicists and has in the past been 
 held by men of the insight of Faraday. II. That 
 potential energy, though not visible or externally 
 perceptible, is nevertheless definitely and directly 
 perceivable internally or by participation in it 
 through what is inaptly called the "muscular 
 sense " ; and that it is absurd to speak of the stress 
 quality revealed by this internal or muscular sense 
 as being less real or more anthropomorphic than
 
 124 CONSCIOUSNESS AS ENERGY 
 
 the motion quality revealed by the visual sense. 
 III. That energy in the form of stress, while most 
 easily measurable in terms of the motion which it 
 will yield is nevertheless capable of as precise 
 mathematical formulation as that motion itself, viz., 
 as mas, or the product of the mass, the accel- 
 eration and the space through which that accelera- 
 tion obtains. In short, the third view, according 
 to which force is a real phase of energy, is, first, 
 logically necessary in order to avoid the unthink- 
 able paradox of a real motion passing into and 
 issuing from nonentity ; it is, second, a direct revela- 
 tion of experience; it is, third, capable in its own 
 right of mathematical symbohzation. 
 
 When we formulate kinetic or motion energy 
 as J m-v^, we recognize it to be the product of 
 the mass and the integral (with respect to velocity) 
 of the velocity. In the same way potential energ;y' 
 formulated as mas may be recognized as the 
 derivative (with respect to time) of the velocity. 
 Acceleration is the derivative of the same func- 
 tion of which J i;^ is the integral, viz., the function 
 
 ds' 
 
 dt 
 
 * Of course equal quantities of the potential energy denoted by m • a • * 
 may differ in kind according to the relative values of the three factors, (m) 
 (a) and («). And leaving aside variations in the mass factor, we should have 
 two types of potential energy ; one would be of the type instanced by a sys- 
 tem of widely separated bodies attracting one another by the force of gra\dty, 
 and the other of the type presented by a compressed spring. In the former 
 type a relatively small acceleration, (a), extends through a relatively great 
 space, («), while in the latter a relatively great acceleration (a) acts through 
 the relatively small space («) occupied by the spring; the product {a-s), 
 however, being the same in both cases.
 
 WM. PEPPERRELL MONTAGUE 125 
 
 If one place his hand between a fixed spring and 
 a body moving uniformly into collision with it, 
 he can get as clear and direct a perception of this 
 continuous transfer of motion into a stress which is 
 felt to be homogeneous though not identical with 
 it, as he can of any other phenomenon whatever. 
 And the mathematical homogeneity of ^ m • if 
 and mas accords with this immediately felt 
 homogeneity of motion and stress. What is the 
 a priori warrant for believing that reality can con- 
 tain only integrals of velocities and not their deriva- 
 tives ? Of course stress from its very nature can 
 never be revealed to the visual sense, while motion 
 can. But is it not an over-enthusiasm for the in- 
 strumental excellence of the retina to regard it as 
 having a monopoly in revealing the qualities of the 
 actual ? To be consistent in carrying out this apo- 
 theosis of the retinal and condemnation of the mus- 
 cular sense, we should have to define the inertia 
 and the gravitational property of mass itself in 
 terms of the motion with which they can undoubt- 
 edly be correlated. But I cannot see how such a 
 reduction of mechanics to a geometry of the motion 
 of shadows or visible forms would possess any ex- 
 clusive ontological validity, even if Professor Karl 
 Pearson be right as to its superior methodological 
 elegance.^ Let us assume, then, that potential 
 energy or stress is as real as kinetic energy and that 
 
 * Cf. "The Grammar of Science," especially chapters VI and VITI, 
 in which the reality of force is attacked as an exploded superstition and 
 even mass is defined exclusively in terms of motion.
 
 126 CONSCIOUSNESS AS ENERGY 
 
 consequently we should speak of an intensive rather 
 than of a potential phase of energy. I wish now 
 to point out certain very curious resemblances 
 between this intensive energy and that which from 
 the point of view of introspection we defined as the 
 psychical. 
 
 The first and perhaps the most striking of these 
 resemblances is the essential invisibility or privacy 
 which characterizes both energy in its intensive 
 phase and also the non-physical elements of con- 
 sciousness. Leibniz reminds us that the most pow- 
 erful microscope could not, if applied to the brain 
 of a fellow-man, disclose anything of his thoughts 
 and feelings. We may remind ourselves that the 
 most powerful microscope, if applied to a com- 
 pressed spring or to the space of a magnetic or of a 
 gravitational field, would be equally unable to dis- 
 close the stresses therein. As objects of external 
 or visual perception, potential energy and the psy- 
 chical are both of them non-existent. We can feel 
 stress only by participating in it, just as we could 
 feel our neighbor's toothache only by participating 
 in it through some such inter- organic, nerve-graft- 
 ing device as Professor Pearson has suggested. 
 From the external point of view, potential energy 
 and my neighbor's toothache are ejects which I 
 must postulate in order to explain the otherwise 
 inexplicable hiatuses in the series of visual percep- 
 tions which originate from and terminate in them. 
 
 Secondly, both consciousness and intensive en-
 
 WM. PEPPERRELL MONTAGUE 127 
 
 ergy seem to pervade the space of the things they 
 influence, and in this both resemble matter. But 
 in thus extending in space they each of them seem 
 to forfeit thereby no whit of their pecuHar unity and 
 indivisibihty, and in this both of them differ from 
 matter. You cannot imagine your consciousness, 
 although it pervades the space of its perceptual 
 objects, being divided into pieces or composed of 
 them. No more can you imagine dividing into sep- 
 arate pieces the elastic stress that pervades a spring 
 or the gravitational stress that pervades the plane- 
 tary system. 
 
 Thirdly, we pointed out in the first section of this 
 paper, how, from the essential primacy of unity over 
 divisibility in a psychical system, there followed 
 that curious conformity in the behavior of its ele- 
 ments to the structural form of the system as a 
 whole which was manifested in the teleological na- 
 ture of psychical processes. Now, consider the 
 behavior of a swarm of moving iron filings when 
 they come within the field of a magnet. Prior to 
 their advent in the field, each is in its existence rela- 
 tively autonomous as respects the others, though 
 subservient to the impulses received in actual im- 
 pact with them (mechanism). Once within the 
 magnetic field, however, the filings forget, as it 
 were, their individual strifes, and each in relative 
 indifference to the bumps of its fellows assumes tlie 
 position demanded of it by the structure of the 
 field into which it has come. The formless chaos
 
 128 CONSCIOUSNESS AS ENERGY 
 
 of filings gives place to the ordered system which so 
 surprisingly incarnates, or bodies forth to the eye, 
 the invisible and indivisible lines of magnetic stress. 
 Fourthly, the conditions under which a stimulus is 
 followed by a sensation happen also to be conditions 
 under which energy passes jrom a kinetic into an in- 
 tensive phase. Perceptions are presumed to arise 
 synchronously with the redirection in the central 
 nervous system of afferent currents into efferent 
 channels. When this process of redirection is pro- 
 longed by reason of the many conflicts with the 
 cerebral association currents induced by the affer- 
 ent intruders, then the consciousness is prolonged, 
 keen, and complex. When, on the other hand, by 
 reason either of innate adjustments or of long 
 practice, the journey through the central labyrinth 
 is quick, smooth, and direct, then the consciousness, 
 if present at all, is simple, faint, and brief. Note 
 that the condition for motion passing into stress is 
 always that it meet with some obstacle by which it 
 is redirected, and that the proportion of the energy 
 that becomes potential depend on the degree of 
 change in the motion's direction. If a ball be 
 thrown perpendicularly against a wall, the whole 
 of the incident motion must disappear before the 
 reflected motion can ensue. But if it be thrown 
 obliquely then only so much of the motion can pass 
 into stress as is equal to that imaginary compo- 
 nent of the motion, which is normal to the wall. 
 Several observers might conceivably follow with
 
 WM. PEPPERRELL MONTAGUE 129 
 
 their eyes the nerve current as it traversed the 
 circuit from sensory origin to motor terminus, and 
 at the very moments when the whole or some part of 
 its kinetic energy did, by reason of a change in its 
 direction due to the interference of rival currents 
 of cerebral origin, disappear into an intensive or 
 potential phase : — at those same moments there 
 would be reported a psychical fact accessible only 
 to the observation of the one person through whose 
 brain the stimulus was passing. 
 
 " When a thing looks like a frog and acts like a 
 frog and croaks like a frog, we call it a frog." And 
 on the strength of the four fundamental resem- 
 blances described above I propose as a possible 
 solution of the psychophysical problem the fol- 
 lowing theory : WJiat 7, jrom within, would call 
 my sensations are neither more nor less than what 
 you, from without, would describe as the forms of 
 potential energy to which the kinetic energies of 
 neural stimuli would necessarily give rise in pass- 
 ing through my brain. 
 
 We do not as yet know enough about the nature 
 of the neural stimulus or "current" to form a sat- 
 isfactory conception of the manner of its transfor- 
 mation into the potential phase. If it be some 
 form of vibration or ordinary wave motion, then 
 the change is of the same sort as that undergone by 
 a beam of light in changing from the incident to the 
 reflected path. If on the other hand the nerve 
 "current" be electrical in its nature, resembling, 
 
 9
 
 130 CONSCIOUSNESS AS ENERGY 
 
 as has recently been suggested, the relatively slow 
 progress of energy along a telegraphic cable, then 
 its transformation into potential energy might per- 
 haps be likened to that wrought by an electro- 
 magnet in which a portion of the energy of the 
 electric current is drained off into the potential 
 form of a magnetic stress in the surrounding field. 
 
 I hasten, however, to answer an objection which 
 is obvious and which might appear crushing. We 
 know, it may be said, what force is — at least if we 
 choose, as I have done, to give that name to the 
 quality revealed by the muscular sense. And we 
 know what a sensation in general is. They are 
 plainly different, and to identify one with the other 
 is sheer silliness. It is like saying with the materi- 
 alist that a sensation is a mode of motion. To iden- 
 tify odor with color, or pain with sound, would be 
 futilities of the same kind. 
 
 To this objection two answers may be made. 
 First, it will be remembered that when we aban- 
 doned the modern dualistic postulate of a non- 
 spatial consciousness, we abandoned also its 
 equally vicious correlate — the postulate of an 
 abstract physical world made up of mere quanti- 
 tative relations and lacking all the specific natures 
 or secondary qualities that are correlated with 
 those relations. Now, if we return to the older 
 view of common-sense, according to which every 
 physical thing and every motion or stimulus pro- 
 ceeding from it has correlated with it a specific
 
 WM. PEPPERRELL MONTAGUE 131 
 
 nature — not a substantial form but rather a form 
 inliering in the motion that carries it — then the 
 change of the kinetic energy of the stimulus into 
 the potential energy of the sensation will not be a 
 mysterious change of sheer quantity into sheer qual- 
 ity, but only the change into a qualitative form of 
 stress of a similarly qualitative form of motion. 
 So what we perceive as mere undifferentiated stress 
 is simply the general "substance" of sensations, 
 i. e., the basic and generic quality common to 
 them all, the different degrees of which are felt as 
 the differences of intensity to which every sen- 
 sation is alike susceptible. Stress as psychical 
 substance would thus be related to particular sen- 
 sations precisely as extended matter is related to 
 particular objects. All physical objects are ex- 
 perienced as having the general quality of ma- 
 teriality in addition to the specific qualities by 
 which they differ. 
 
 But, secondly, it may also be said in explanation 
 of the difference between mere stress and the rich 
 variety of our feelings and sensations that what 
 we have so far been considering as potential energy 
 and formulating as mas is only one, and that the 
 simplest and lowest of the intensive phases into 
 which kinetic energy may pass and from which 
 it may come. Acceleration is only the first deriva- 
 tive of velocity with respect to time; and if an 
 energy quantum can pass from the extensive phase 
 represented by the integral of a velocity (J ^^)
 
 132 CONSCIOUSNESS AS ENERGY 
 
 into the intensive phase represented by its first 
 
 derivative ( — ), it would seem that it might on 
 
 occasion pass equally well into any or all of the 
 infinity of higher phases of intensive energy 
 symbolized by the series of velocity derivatives 
 of higher order than the first, viz., 
 
 (d^v d^v dM) dy \ 
 
 \dP' dP' di" ' ' ' ' dt'' ' ' ' J 
 
 The qualities denoted by these higher derivatives 
 would have no place or meaning in the physical 
 world except as higher orders of the potentiality 
 of motion, but they could well exist as actualities 
 in the intensive sphere of the psychical. They 
 would constitute those tertiary contents of con- 
 sciousness which even the most realistic of realists 
 can hardly imagine to exist apart from some 
 awareness of them. I refer to such things as love, 
 envy, fear, and hate, and the whole inexhaustible 
 host of the finer forms and nuances of these. 
 
 And here, then, in the answer to what might have 
 seemed a fatal objection, we find a fifth fundamental 
 resemblance between the psychical and the inten- 
 sive phase of energy with which our theory 
 seeks to identify it. Any given psychosis con- 
 tains only a tiny fraction of the totality of physi- 
 cal events, but the psychical in general has the 
 capacity not only for all perceptible physical objects 
 but also for the whole assemblage of thoughts and
 
 WM. PEPPERRELL MONTAGUE 133 
 
 feelings about those objects. This consideration 
 alone would be suflBcient to disprove a parallelism 
 of the "double-aspect" type. For the assemblage 
 of possible psychical elements or forms of inten- 
 sive energy denoted by the higher derivatives is 
 to the assemblage of possible physical events or 
 kinetic energies denoted merely by the first order 
 of integrals as a multi-dimensional manifold is to 
 the uni-dimensional manifold that forms the 
 lowest and Hmiting of its "cross-sections." Or 
 to express the same thing in another way, we can 
 say that the physical world of public objects is the 
 indefinitely extending and ever-present surface 
 of contact from which originate and in which 
 terminate the series of intensive or psychical events, 
 these latter being private and insulated from one 
 another except in so far as they participate in the 
 common physical order. Or, finally, we might 
 liken the relation between physical and psychical 
 to that obtaining between the one kind of wealth 
 embodied in money, and the totality of objects 
 of wealth which are being constantly interchanged 
 and mutually evaluated through the agency of that 
 money as a universal medium of circulation. 
 
 We found at the outset of this investigation that 
 the problem of defining consciousness would prop- 
 erly involve the solution of three subsidiary prob- 
 lems : (1) The definition of the psychical as it 
 appears to introspection or from within, a distinc- 
 tion between psychosis and hylosis as directly
 
 134 CONSCIOUSNESS AS ENERGY 
 
 presented in the experience of each of us. (2) The 
 definition of consciousness as it appears or is in- 
 ferred from without, as centering in the brain of 
 another man and constituting the essentially in- 
 visible origin and terminus of his nerve currents ; 
 the consideration of which is the psychophysical 
 problem of the relation of stimulus to sensation. 
 (3) A comparison of the properties of psychical 
 systems with the properties of living systems that 
 would throw light on the bio-psychical problem 
 of why it is that consciousness must have as its 
 matrix a growing and reproducing organism of 
 protoplasmic matter. 
 
 I have endeavored in the first and second sec- 
 tions to present a conception of consciousness as 
 energy that seemed to me to meet the demands 
 of the first two of the three problems just named. 
 The third problem must be omitted, though its 
 consideration, would, I hope, serve to supplement 
 and in some measure to clarify and concretely 
 corroborate what has here been said.
 
 PERCEPTION AND EPISTEMOLOGY
 
 PERCEPTION AND EPISTEMOLOGY 
 
 By Frederick J. E. Woodbbidge 
 
 What perception is," says John Locke, "every 
 one will know better by reflecting on what he does 
 himself, when he sees, hears, feels, etc., or thinks, 
 than by any discourse of mine. Whoever reflects 
 on what passes in his own mind cannot miss it. 
 And if he does not reflect, all the words in the 
 world cannot make him have any notion of it. 
 This is certain, that whatever alterations are made 
 in the body, if they reach not the mind ; whatever 
 impressions are made on the outward parts, if they 
 are not taken notice of within, there is no percep- 
 tion. Fire may burn our bodies with no other 
 effect than it does a billet, unless the motion be 
 continued to the brain, and there the sense of heat, 
 or idea of pain, be produced in the mind ; wherein 
 consists actual perception." ^ 
 
 Psychologists since Locke have often thought of 
 perception more narrowly, but his words still serve 
 to point out the different attitudes towards the fact 
 that to know our world we must perceive and re- 
 flect upon it, which have been conspicuous in mod- 
 
 ' "Essay concerning Human Understanding," edited by A. C. Eraser, 
 Vol. I, p. 183. 
 
 137
 
 138 PERCEPTION AND EPISTEMOLOGY 
 
 ern inquiries into the subject. They suggest that 
 perception is a process which we may examine by 
 considering what we do when we see or hear, and 
 that it is a content, a result, which we may, conse- 
 quently, consider as such, and about the nature 
 and relations of which we may inquire. It is with 
 these two attitudes towards perception that this 
 paper is primarily concerned, so far as the problem 
 of knowledge is affected by them. 
 
 Inquiry into what we do when we see involves 
 us naturally in researches into those physical and 
 physiological processes which Democritus seems to 
 have been the first to formulate with any great 
 amount of completeness. We are led to recognize 
 sources of stimulation, media for the transmission 
 of the stimulus, organs for its reception, and reac- 
 tions of the individual possessing the organs. In 
 a particular case, as in that of seeing, we try to 
 isolate a particular process and discover how it is 
 related to other similar processes. In short, we 
 inquire into the mechanism of perception. We 
 deal with factors, processes, and quantities sup- 
 posed to be known or ascertainable. Stimulus, 
 medium, and organ, for instance, are distinguished 
 as identifiable factors in one continuous sphere of 
 investigation. Any doubt about their existence, 
 their character, or their mode of operation tends
 
 F. J. E. WOODBRIDGE 139 
 
 to vitiate and obscure our understanding of the 
 mechanism we are trying to discover. Further, 
 our procedure is not speculative, but experimental. 
 So far as possible we measure the stimulus, the 
 rate of its transmission, and its effect. We do 
 what can be repeated by others, because to others 
 our method is intelligible and the means of repeti- 
 tion are at their command. Should we engage in 
 mere suppositions, admit tliat the stimulus, for 
 instance, were not something given with which we 
 can experiment, but something assumed to account 
 for certain facts, our laboratories might well be 
 closed, and the mechanism of perception left for 
 anyone to conceive according to his preferences or 
 whims. But it is precisely such admissions which 
 we do not make. We may admit that other points 
 of view may lead to a revision of the ultimate 
 significance of our results, but we never willingly 
 admit that the method and the factors of our 
 investigation are not intelligible, clear, and 
 unambiguous. 
 
 Still further, we are quite unwilling to set any 
 arbitrary limit to the extent to which inquiries of 
 this nature may be successfully pursued. What- 
 ever limits we discover we set down to our igno- 
 rance, to our lack of appropriate instruments, to 
 our failures, but not to any restraints due to the 
 method we employ or to the nature of the factors 
 with which we deal. We may characterize certain 
 results of perception as illusions, but such a char-
 
 140 PERCEPTION AND EPISTEMOLOGY 
 
 acterization does not deter us from inquiring into 
 their mechanism in precisely the same way as we 
 inquire into the mechanism of those results we 
 call normal or real. We may even ask, as Locke 
 suggests, what we do when we think, and admit 
 that the only bar to our discovery of the mechan- 
 ism of thought is a temporary ignorance which at 
 any moment may be removed. In general, then, 
 perception as a process defined broadly in terms 
 of Locke's general definition of it is a process open 
 to experimental inquiry in an intelligible and un- 
 ambiguous manner, an inquiry which can be re- 
 peated, checked, and verified by anyone who 
 takes the pains to do so. The result is a concrete 
 body of knowledge steadily increasing in extent 
 and definiteness, and gradually accumulating solid 
 information about the world in which we live. No 
 one naturally fails to grasp its aim, its method, or 
 its import. No one finds confusion in it unless 
 he departs from the point of view from which it 
 is instituted and proceeds to estimate it according 
 to standards and criteria other than those which 
 are employed in building it up. 
 
 Similar observations may be made about the 
 results reached when we take the other attitude 
 towards perception; when, that is, we regard it as 
 a content or product. Naturally we are now no 
 longer concerned with the process or mechanism 
 by which the content is attained, but solely with 
 the facts which are the outcome of that process.
 
 F. J. E. WOODBRIDGE 141 
 
 When we see, certain things are done, but some- 
 thing also is seen. That which we see we now 
 call a perception, and in general we may use the 
 term "perceptions" to denote whatever may be 
 the objects of our regard. Now these perceptions 
 we may enumerate. We may classify them. We 
 may analyze them into such elements as we may 
 be able to discover. We may find out how these 
 elements are related to one another, how they may 
 be combined, how they modify one another. 
 About the combinations w^e may make similar in- 
 quiries. In short, we may institute a wide range 
 of investigations into the things we perceive with- 
 out departing from the point of view which takes 
 these things simply as the objects of our regard, 
 and without asking how we perceive them. Such 
 inquiries may be as free from speculation and mere 
 assumptions as those we make into the mechanism 
 of perception as a process. They may be equally 
 as experimental. They may be kept true to their 
 point of departure and yield concrete bodies of 
 knowledge of great value. The results attained 
 are accessible to anyone who cares to review them. 
 The methods and experiments by which they are 
 attained can be repeated, they can be checked 
 and verified at any point desired. We find no 
 ambiguity or confusion in the knowledge they 
 afford us so long as we do not depart from the 
 point of view from which these particular in- 
 quiries are instituted.
 
 142 PERCEPTION AND EPISTEMOLOGY 
 
 When we speak of those bodies of knowledge 
 which result when we regard perception solely as 
 a content or product, we are apt to think prima- 
 rily of analytic and descriptive psychology. But 
 it is clear that they may not be so restricted. They 
 comprise, in fact, by far the greater part of what 
 we know. The astronomer, the biologist, the 
 chemist, the historian, the student of literature — 
 to mention only a few instances — are all en- 
 gaged in increasing our knowledge of what our 
 perceptions are and how they are related to one 
 another. Their studies are not prefaced by an ex- 
 amination of how we perceive. They take their 
 material as so much given stuff, and then proceed 
 to tell us what, when so taken, they discover it to 
 be. If they are invited first to examine the mechan- 
 ism of perception, they regard the invitation as im- 
 pertinent and irrelevant. They have found such 
 an examination to be unnecessary, and so believe 
 that they can rightfully neglect it. Even when their 
 attention is called to the fact that the processes by 
 which we perceive have important bearings on 
 what we perceive, they find that their observations 
 can be controlled by well-known methods, by 
 putting them, for instance, in the context which 
 theories of probability, based on a number of ob- 
 servations, afford. They can thus make their 
 observations approach any degree of theoretical 
 accuracy desired. 
 
 We should, doubtless, count among the bodies
 
 F. J. E. WOODBRIDGE 143 
 
 of knowledge which result when perception is re- 
 garded as a product, more than histor}^ and the 
 greater part of natural science. For, naturally, we 
 may make these bodies of knowledge themselves 
 objects of investigation, asking after their general 
 constitution, the manner of their building up, and 
 the grounds which lead us to view them with 
 confidence. These are problems with which logic 
 is concerned. How far they constitute the full 
 extent and nature of logical theory may be left for 
 the present purpose undecided. But it is clear that 
 a logic which would deal with them successfully 
 would be a very comprehensive science. When we 
 should know how different bodies of knowledge 
 differ, how far these differences are due to mate- 
 rial, to method, and to aim, when we should know 
 how these bodies of knowledge are built up from 
 what we perceive, and with what degree of confi- 
 dence they may be entertained, we should then have 
 largely satisfied the demands which our interest in 
 logic occasions. Such a logic, like the bodies of 
 knowledge it reviewed, would be experimental, it 
 would itself be capable of review by anyone in- 
 terested without involving the reviewer in ambig- 
 uous assumptions. It would simply say to him, 
 Such and such is the case with these bodies of 
 knowledge; examine them for yourself and you 
 will find it so or be able to indicate where inaccu- 
 racy exists. It is quite inconceivable that such a 
 logic could afford matter for debate rather than
 
 144 PERCEPTION AND EPISTEMOLOGY 
 
 for investigation. It would hardly be called by the 
 names of those who worked at it, or be the posses- 
 sion of a "school" or a "philosophy." It would 
 constitute a body of common knowledge which 
 investigators could enlarge and thereby enlarge 
 their own reputations. In proportion as it kept 
 clear its title to common knowledge, admitting 
 review and repetition of experiments at all points, 
 it would be free from ambiguity and confusion. 
 
 It seems clear, further, that the point of view 
 under consideration could yield a metaphysics 
 which, like history, the sciences, and logic, could 
 claim to be experimental and constitute a body of 
 common knowledge. For it may well be that the 
 things which we perceive, when taken in as com- 
 prehensive totals as we can grasp, present certain 
 general features of character and connection which 
 we tend to disregard or overlook when the same 
 things are taken less comprehensively and com- 
 pletely. Such characters and connections have 
 been historical themes of metaphysics. When 
 looked for in the world of concrete perceptions 
 they may not constitute all that historical metaphys- 
 ics has been pleased to investigate, but the experi- 
 mental restriction cannot obscure the magnitude 
 or importance of the body of knowledge which 
 might result. For, most assuredly, if there are gen- 
 eral types of existence among the things we per- 
 ceive and general types of connection, the clear 
 definition of their characters and modes of opera-
 
 F. J. E. WOODBRIDGE 145 
 
 tion could not fail to be of importance, or to afford 
 problems of ceaseless and varied interest. A meta- 
 physics of the kind suggested would admit of 
 natural growth from generation to generation, be- 
 cause it would be knowledge of the kind that pur- 
 sues a common road and that can be repeatedly 
 checked and reviewed. 
 
 Bodies of knowledge of the kind described by no 
 means constitute the sole results of our inquiries. 
 We seek to supplement them by hypotheses, theo- 
 ries, and philosophical speculations, but we find 
 our vision of the world grows clearer thereby only as 
 these supplementations are genuinely such. The 
 moment they lead us to deprive the results of careful 
 research of their natural character and purport, these 
 results become ambiguous and misleading. We no 
 longer remain clear as to the information they in- 
 tend to convey. When, for example, Huxley tells us 
 that " a sensation is the equivalent in terms of con- 
 sciousness for a mode of motion of the matter of the 
 sensorium," and that the assumption of the ex- 
 istence of matter is a "pure piece of metaphysical 
 speculation," ^ our thoughts on the subject of sen- 
 sation become confused instead of clear. It seems 
 unjust to his careful investigation to conclude that 
 a sensation is a certain kind of equivalent for some- 
 thing the existence of which is a pure piece of meta- 
 physical speculation. Indeed, if such is to be the 
 
 * " Hume : with Helps to the Study of Berkeley." New York : D. 
 Appleton & Co., p. 317. 
 
 10
 
 146 PERCEPTION AND EPISTEMOLOGY 
 
 outcome of our study of sensation, that study is 
 hardly worth while. It does not clarify the thing 
 it intends to clarify. It obscures it and makes it 
 unintelligible. Thus it is that speculation only con- 
 fuses experimental knowledge when, by depriving 
 our results of their evident import, it fails genuinely 
 to enlarge or supplement them in the direction in 
 which they naturally point. 
 
 Again, it is only by being such genuine enlarge- 
 ments or supplementations that speculation can be 
 controlled and preserved from mere idiosyncrasy. 
 As pragmatism has now abundantly taught us, with 
 fresh insistence on a piece of wisdom long familiar, 
 speculations which can own no checks or make no 
 differences in the world with which we directly 
 deal are matters which it is idle to seek to verify. 
 We may accept them, not because they give us 
 information about our world continuous and ho- 
 mogeneous with what we naturally acquire, but be- 
 cause of their inherent interest or their consonance 
 with our moods. 
 
 Whether, therefore, we regard perception as a 
 process the mechanism of which we are to discover, 
 or as a product comprising the realm of what 
 we perceive, it is evident that we may sketch 
 out extensive bodies of knowledge consistently and 
 unambiguously pursued from these two points of 
 view. Even if the points of view differ, the resulting 
 bodies of knowledge are of the same general char- 
 acter. They are what I have called experimental.
 
 F. J. E. WOODBRIDGE 147 
 
 And by that I have meant that the elements, the 
 terms, the relations, the connections, the qualities, 
 the quantities — or whatever terms we may choose 
 by which to designate the various things we study 
 — can all be identified by anyone who wishes to 
 identify them, and that whatever is said about these 
 things can be tested by anyone who will refer to 
 the things in question. The bodies of knowledge 
 are not mere possibilities which we may some day 
 realize, but they are actual bodies of knowledge 
 already existing in various stages of progress. What 
 I would particularly emphasize about them is their 
 experimental character and the fact that they are 
 accepted by the vast majority of people at their face 
 value, as measurably accomplishing the thing they 
 set out to do. 
 
 That they are so accepted will, probably, be gen- 
 erally admitted. When we are told that under 
 specified conditions objects excite certain disturb- 
 ances in the medium between them and our eyes, 
 and that our eyes are affected by these disturb- 
 ances in various ways, that retina and nerve are 
 thereby stimulated, and that consequently we see, 
 we tend to believe what we are told. AVhen we are 
 told that the medium is the ether, we may have 
 difficulty in comprehending just what the ether is, 
 but w^e tend to believe that there is such a thing 
 or something like it which we might understand 
 better with increased knowledge. We tend to be- 
 lieve these things just as we tend to believe the
 
 148 PERCEPTION AND EPISTEMOLOGY 
 
 historian when he tells us that the Pilgrims landed 
 in 1620 A. D. Indeed, we naturally regard state- 
 ments about the ether, about the processes and 
 results of perception, and statements about the 
 Pilgrims, as statements of the same general kind 
 purporting to inform us about the conditions and 
 happenings in the world in which we live. Simi- 
 larly, we incline to accept the statements of the 
 sciences for just what they purport to be: that 
 there is such a substance as oxygen and that it 
 combines with other substances in certain ways ; 
 that these substances may be atomic in structure 
 or of a structure more complex ; that living beings 
 vary in certain ways and preserve an amount of 
 continuity in their succession ; that the natural his- 
 tory of the world is, in large measure, a genuine 
 account of what has happened. In short, what- 
 ever knowledge is of the experimental kind we 
 take its deliverances as probably correct informa- 
 tion about the things with which it deals. This 
 habit of mind is by no means incompatible with 
 the liberal recognition that we know but little and 
 that the little we know is doubtless subject to re- 
 vision. But we naturally hold tenaciously to that 
 little until the need of revision has become appar- 
 ent. The revised knowledge is, however, the same 
 in kind as that which it supersedes.
 
 F. J. E. WOODBRIDGE 149 
 
 II 
 
 AMiether we regard perception as a process or as 
 a content, concrete bodies of knowledge result pur- 
 porting to give us approximately correct informa- 
 tion about the world in which we live. Yet it has 
 been repeatedly insisted that just because these 
 two attitudes towards perception exist informa- 
 tion about our world cannot ultimately be taken 
 at its face value and with its natural import. For, 
 it is urged, if we mean by perception as a content 
 that which we immediately perceive, it is evident 
 that, in the last analysis, perception is given to us 
 only as a content. We may, of course, still speak 
 of examining into the processes of perception and 
 even of experimenting upon them, but it should be 
 evident that these processes, so far as we directly 
 attack them, are themselves perceptions, they are 
 what we immediately perceive, they are contents. 
 How, then, can we be justified in regarding them 
 as the real processes which precede contents and 
 result in perceptions ? On the other hand, if we 
 cut the contents wholly off from their supposed 
 processes, how can we be justified in longer be- 
 lieving that they, with the bodies of knowledge 
 built directly upon them, afford us reliable infor- 
 mation about our world ? Are we not confronted 
 here with the problem of knowledge in its most 
 serious and fundamental form, and confronted
 
 150 PERCEPTION AND EPISTEMOLOGY 
 
 with it in a manner requiring a procedure and 
 point of view in marked contrast with the pro- 
 cedure and points of view which have given us 
 our bodies of positive knowledge? Do we not 
 need a theory which may free us from a situa- 
 tion which, otherwise, must remain ambiguous 
 and paradoxical? We have in these questions 
 one way of stating the central problem of modern 
 epistemology. 
 
 More attention has been paid to the soundness 
 of the solutions which have been offered of this 
 problem than has been paid to their success in 
 modifying positive knowledge and in giving us 
 increased reliable information about our world. 
 If, however, we do not raise the question of their 
 validity, but ask rather concerning their impor- 
 tance for the bodies of knowledge which are steadily 
 built up in the ways indicated in the early para- 
 graphs of this paper, we are confronted with the 
 fact that they have not modified these bodies of 
 knowledge in any essential particular, nor sup- 
 plemented them in any continuous and homogene- 
 ous manner. Their efficacy has exhibited itself 
 primarily in modifying our personal estimate of 
 the significance of what we know. Some illustra- 
 tions of this result may reinforce the general 
 statement. 
 
 Professor Karl Pearson's characterization of 
 the concepts of science as conceptual shorthand 
 has, as is evident from his " Grammar of Science,"
 
 F. J. E. WOODBRIDGE 151 
 
 an epistemological basis. There may be no atoms 
 and no ether. Indeed, he conceives their existence 
 to be relatively an unimportant matter. The im- 
 portant matter is whether they, as conceptual 
 shorthand, help us to resume the routine of our 
 perceptions. But it is clear, none the less, that 
 scientists attempt to discover the constitution of 
 the ether, the weight of atoms, their structure, and 
 their relations to one another. I say they attempt 
 to discover these things, they do not attempt simply 
 to conceive them. The acceptance or rejection of 
 Professor Pearson's epistemolog}' does not appear 
 to affect their methods of research or the formula- 
 tion of their results. He may lead us to believe that 
 an epistemological estimate of the value of science 
 is a very important matter, but it seems to be im- 
 portant not because it makes for a better or a more 
 accurate science, not because it increases our suc- 
 cess in using the results of research in industry 
 and the arts, but because it tends to modify our 
 personal estimates of the ultimate significance of 
 knowledge. The "Grammar of Science" con- 
 tributes, undoubtedly, to the methods and results 
 of science, but its epistemology contributes not to 
 their enlargement, but to their spiritual evaluation. 
 It leads us to reflect on the importance of the 
 proper estimate of science for social progress and 
 citizenship. 
 
 As a second illustration, I take the following 
 paragraph from Professor H. Poincare's "Value
 
 152 PERCEPTION AND EPISTEMOLOGY 
 
 of Science**: "Does the harmony the human 
 inteUigence thinks it discovers in nature exist out- 
 side of this inteUigence ? No, beyond doubt, a 
 reahty completely independent of the mind which 
 conceives it, sees or feels it, is an impossibility. A 
 world as exterior as that, even if it existed, would 
 for us be forever inaccessible. But what we call 
 objective reality is, in the last analysis, what is 
 common to many thinking beings, and could be 
 common to all; this common part, we shall see, 
 can only be the harmony expressed by mathematical 
 laws. It is this harmony then which is the sole 
 objective reality, the only truth we can attain; 
 and when I add that the universal harmony of the 
 world is the source of all beauty, it will be under- 
 stood what price we should attach to the slow and 
 difficult progress which little by little enables us 
 to know it better." ^ Even if these words contain 
 the proper estimate of the value of science, even if 
 it is true that the only genuine objective reality is 
 a harmony which does not exist outside of the intel- 
 ligence which discovers it and is yet common to 
 many thinking beings, we find thereby no new 
 ways to enlarge or correct our positive knowledge 
 about the world. We may be freed, as Professor 
 Poincare suggests, from a certain fear of scientific 
 truth which might otherwise oppress us. We may 
 have our spiritual vision broadened. But the prog- 
 ress of science does not seem to be affected by such 
 
 ^ Popidar Science Monthly. Vol. LXIX, p. 196.
 
 F. J. E. WOODBRIDGE 153 
 
 services except in so far as they help to remove our 
 prejudices or make us enthusiastic. 
 
 If we turn to the writings of those who are more 
 exclusively epistemologists, the same general con- 
 clusions will be forced upon us. How repeatedly 
 we have been told that epistemology does not dis- 
 turb the ordinary processes of knowledge ! How 
 naturally philosophers have been led to commend 
 it for its effects on character ! "If, therefore," says 
 Berkeley, "we consider the difference there is be- 
 twixt natural philosophers and other men, with 
 regard to their knowledge of the phenomena, we 
 shall find it consists, not in an exacter knowledge 
 of the efficient cause that produces them — for 
 that can be no other than the will of a spirit — 
 but only in a greater largeness of comprehension, 
 whereby analogies, harmonies, and agreements 
 are discovered in the works of nature, and the 
 particular effects explained, that is, reduced to 
 general rules." Again he says: "From what has 
 been premised, no reason can be drawn why the 
 history of nature should not still be studied, and 
 observations and experiments made; which, that 
 they are of use to mankind, and enable us to draw 
 any general conclusions, is not the result of any 
 immutable habitudes or relations between things 
 themselves, but only of God's goodness and kind- 
 ness to men in the administration of the world." ^ 
 Illustrations from certain contemporaneous phi- 
 
 ^ "Works," Eraser's eclitioa, 1901, Vol. I, pp. 815, 317.
 
 154 PERCEPTION AND EPISTEMOLOGY 
 
 losophers might also be cited to indicate that in 
 their opinion the great aim of philosophical inquiry 
 into the foundations of knowledge is not to rectify 
 or homogeneously to supplement the results of 
 positive knowledge, but to afford us a spiritual 
 estimate of these results. By considering episte- 
 mological speculations we are led to reflect on 
 our relations to the absolute. 
 
 Considerations like the above point to the con- 
 clusion that the service which epistemology renders 
 is not logical, but moral and spiritual. It affords 
 us, to use the expression with which Professor 
 Santayana describes religion, "another world to 
 live in," a world where it may indeed be good to 
 dwell now and then, but which is so different and 
 remote from the world where perception is a fact 
 and a process for investigation that the problem 
 of perception receives thereby no genuine solution. 
 In terms of that other world we may describe per- 
 ception in ways endeared to epistemology, but 
 when we seek information about what we perceive 
 and how we perceive it, we return to the world of 
 positive knowledge. Should we ask if this informa- 
 tion is correct, we should find no answer in that 
 other world. It would appear, therefore, that the 
 problem of the relation between the content and 
 the process of perception is not clarified by episte- 
 mology. Possibly it is a problem which does not 
 involve the question of the nature and validity of 
 knowledge at all, for it may well be that the rela-
 
 F. J. E. WOODBRIDGE 155 
 
 tion between content and process is not a cognitive 
 relation. 
 
 In spite of what appears to be its logical irrele- 
 vancy for all bodies of positive knowledge, episte- 
 mology, it may be urged, can hardly be dismissed 
 for that reason. The processes of knowledge, 
 studied as empirically and experimentally as you 
 please, may occasion problems the solution of 
 which may force us to recognize that there is a 
 region of philosophical truth different from what 
 positive knowledge reveals and beyond it, a region 
 that forms indeed a supplement to that disclosed 
 by science, but a supplement to be reached by 
 other methods. That other world to live in may 
 not at all be damaged by the recognition of it as 
 another world; it may, rather, thereby receive 
 added importance. If we are actually forced by 
 the peculiarities of experience to frame a theory 
 in the light of which we may scrutinize the truth 
 of the bodies of knowledge we build up directly 
 from the facts of life, we ought, no doubt, to sub- 
 mit to such pressure and do the best we can in the 
 way of such a theory. Furthermore, it may appear 
 arbitrary and high-handed to claim that episte- 
 mology itself is not built up directly from the facts 
 of life, or that it is without experimental warrant. 
 The facts of experience justify it, one may claim, 
 and make it necessary. If its development leads 
 us radically to revise our estimate of the results of 
 positive knowledge, and to find in them a signif-
 
 156 PERCEPTION AND EPISTEMOLOGY 
 
 icance deeper than what they obviously disclose, 
 is it not irrelevant to reply that epistemology does 
 not alter the methods of positive knowledge or 
 enlarge the content of history and the sciences in 
 any continuous and homogeneous manner ? The 
 realist may clamor for the recognition of the fact 
 that all philosophy can do is to tell us in the most 
 comprehensive way what we have found our world 
 really to be, but the idealist can always retort that 
 he has found our world to be precisely that which 
 his own idealistic epistemology has disclosed. The 
 clamor and retort do not, however, advance our 
 knowledge. 
 
 Yet I believe that the student who is interested 
 in recording the results of modern intellectual 
 inquiry is warranted in upholding the conclusion 
 on which this paper has, thus far, insisted. We 
 build up directly from considering the processes 
 of perception, and also the results of those processes, 
 vast bodies of knowledge without seeking any 
 epistemological warrant for our procedure. We 
 may build up an epistemology also, finding our 
 warrant for so doing in matters which the bodies 
 of knowledge referred to designedly and systemati- 
 cally neglect, and be led thereby to scrutinize the 
 truth of our positive knowledge from the vantage 
 ground whither epistemology has carried us. But 
 if we ask what actual service this scrutiny performs, 
 we seem compelled to answer that the service is 
 not logical, but moral and spiritual. It does not
 
 F. J. E. WOODBRIDGE 157 
 
 modify knowledge. It modifies character. It does 
 not give us new or increased information about our 
 world whereby that world may be more effectively 
 controlled. It gives us rather considerations the 
 contemplation of which is more or less satisfying 
 to the spirit. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Such a situation is provoking. It has given rise 
 to noteworthy systems of metaphysics which may 
 serve to explain why the bodies of positive knowl- 
 edge and epistemology have so little mutual rele- 
 vance, and appear, nevertheless, to be natural and 
 inevitable intellectual products. But the question 
 I would raise here does not primarily concern 
 these systems. It concerns rather the initial step 
 which carries us to them. I should like to ask 
 whether, as a matter of fact, the difficulties to 
 which the theory of perception gives rise demand 
 an epistemological solution. In other words, does 
 the fact that the processes of perception result in 
 contents which alone we can be said to perceive 
 necessitate the question of the validity of what we 
 know ? Can the problem of perception be intel- 
 ligibly defined as a problem of cognition ? It has 
 been quite generally assumed that we must ulti- 
 mately define it as such a problem even if by so 
 doing we become unintelligible, concluding that 
 the content of perception is subjective because it 
 is other than and subsequent to an objective proc-
 
 158 PERCEPTION AND EPISTEMOLOGY 
 
 ess which produces it, and then concluding that 
 we must question or reconstruct the objectivity of 
 the process because the only means by which we 
 know it is the content. It is that assumption which 
 gives point to the question whether we perceive 
 things as they really are and which makes the 
 claim that knowledge should be taken at its face 
 value as a natural product appear so violent to 
 many minds. Until this assumption is reckoned 
 with we can hope for little clear appreciation of 
 differences of opinion. I propose a general exami- 
 nation of it here in the hope that I may at least 
 suggest that its claims are far from final. 
 
 "Fire may burn our bodies with no other effect 
 than it does a billet, unless the motion be continued 
 to the brain, and there the sense of heat, or idea of 
 pain, be produced in the mind; wherein consists 
 actual perception.'* From the truth of this state- 
 ment few would naturally dissent. It contains, 
 however, a formulation of the relation between 
 the mechanism and the result of perception which 
 is ambiguously sustained by the facts. It is evi- 
 dent that unless the motion be continued to the 
 brain we do not perceive the burn. But it is not 
 evident in the same way that the sense of heat or 
 idea of pain is produced there in the mind by the 
 continuation of that motion. As has been repeat- 
 edly maintained, we can follow that continuation 
 of motion pretty far and the farther we follow it 
 the more we grow convinced that we should not.
 
 F. J. E. WOODBRIDGE 159 
 
 could we follow it completely, ever come upon 
 the sense of heat or the idea of pain. We are 
 reasonably convinced that without sense-organs, 
 nerves, and brain, we should never perceive the 
 world as we do perceive it, but the more completely 
 we understand organs, nerves, and brain, the less 
 we think of ever discovering in them that world of 
 varied objects and events. Now this fact has led, 
 as it led with Locke, to the assumption that, there- 
 fore, the world which we perceive cannot be con- 
 tinuous and homogeneous with the process by 
 which we perceive it. That world must be of a 
 nature quite different, a world of "ideas," of 
 "states of consciousness," a mental world, in short, 
 the relation of which to the world in which the 
 process occurs we must now speculate about and 
 construct an epistemology to explain. 
 
 The disparity, however, between the world which 
 we perceive and the world where the processes of 
 perception occur, tends to vanish on close examina- 
 tion. When once perception as a content is styled 
 "idea," many minds, under the logical restraint of 
 such ambiguous propositions as " the idea of weight 
 is not heavy" and "the idea of length is not long," 
 have violently robbed "ideas" of the qualities 
 they rightfully possess. What we perceive may 
 be styled "ideas," but the name ought not to ob- 
 scure the fact that some of these "ideas" are 
 actually red and green, others sweet and sour, 
 others noisy, others too heavy to be lifted, others
 
 160 PERCEPTION AND EPISTEMOLOGY 
 
 of measurable length. Were they not such, it is 
 clear we should never speak of such qualities or 
 seek to discover their causes. Epistemologists 
 have struggled over the question of the relation 
 of mind to matter, and idealists have insisted 
 that matter is, after all, mental, but the obvious 
 fact is that "states of consciousness" when made 
 to include all that we perceive, do, some of them 
 at least, possess the qualities which have been 
 invariably ascribed to matter. Epistemology has 
 done much to obscure this fundamental fact. 
 Berkeley asks : " What do we perceive besides our 
 own ideas or sensations .'* and is it not plainly re- 
 pugnant that any one of these, or any combination 
 of them, should exist unperceived .? " ^ Clearly it 
 is plainly repugnant and a manifest contradiction 
 to suppose that perceptions are not perceptions, but 
 is matter thereby destroyed ? Is not what we per- 
 ceive red ? Is it not a deafening noise ? Of those 
 two things we perceive is not one longer than the 
 other ? Has not what we perceive momentum 
 and weight ? Is it not, then, plainly repugnant to 
 conclude that the contents of the mind are, all of 
 them, immaterial ? 
 
 Even, then, if we assume that the world we per- 
 ceive is not continuous with the process by which 
 we perceive it, it is a world not so very unlike the 
 world in which the process takes place. It may 
 be made only of the stuff of consciousness, but 
 
 ^ " Works," Vol. I, p. 259.
 
 F. J. E. WOODBRIDGE 161 
 
 then consciousness is the kind of stuff that may be 
 condensed into a lump of sugar with which to 
 sweeten coffee. Nor can we hope to obscure the 
 fact by insisting that "states of consciousness'* 
 are at best "representations " of other things, which 
 other things have the quahties in question. For, 
 however that may be, the "representations" have 
 also the same qualities and obey the same laws. 
 The world which we perceive turns out thus to be 
 of the same general kind as the world in which the 
 processes of perception occur. Even if the two 
 worlds are numerically distinct, they are essentially 
 alike. The problem of their relation to each other 
 is not a problem of the relation between two natures 
 radically different and heterogeneous. 
 
 From these considerations certain conclusions 
 appear to me to be obvious. If the processes of 
 perception about which physiology and psychol- 
 ogy inform us are the processes by means of which 
 we perceive our world, then, if the perceived world 
 is not continuous with those processes, it is none the 
 less homogeneous with the world where they occur, 
 and might contain them if they are ever given "in 
 representation." If the processes belong to a world 
 entirely physical, the "representations" belong to 
 a world at least partly physical. In other words, 
 if there is a physical world external to consciousness, 
 there is also a physical world within consciousness. 
 The physical things we perceive may not be the 
 physical things which cause our perceptions, they 
 
 11
 
 162 PERCEPTION AND EPISTEMOLOGY 
 
 may be only representations or reduplications of 
 them, but they are physical things none the less. 
 There has never been discovered in "conscious- 
 ness** any activity or power by virtue of which a 
 physical thing even if reduplicated must lose its 
 physical character or the general homogeneity of 
 the world be disrupted. If, however, the proc- 
 esses about which physiology and psychology in- 
 form us are not the processes by which we perceive 
 our world, the question of reduplication and rep- 
 resentation is meaningless. We need no longer 
 be perplexed over the problem of the homogeneity 
 and continuity of the perceived world with the 
 processes which give rise to it, for the problem 
 then no longer exists. 
 
 The conclusions stated in the preceding para- 
 graph cannot, however, fail to modify our attitude 
 towards the problem of such continuity. To sup- 
 pose that physiology and psychology give us no 
 reliable information is preposterous. Yet the fact 
 remains that the perceived world cannot be located 
 at any point in the perceptive process forming 
 therewith a continuous series of events. Must we 
 therefore conclude that there are two worlds, one 
 representing the other, both essentially homogen- 
 eous, and yet presenting a problem of continuity 
 and relationship which we can never bring within 
 the domain of positive knowledge, but of which 
 we must always give only a speculative solution ? 
 This conclusion has become less easy with the rec-
 
 F. J. E. WOODBRIDGE 163 
 
 ognition that the perceived world is essentially like 
 the world of processes, is the kind of a world which 
 might contain them and does contain them contin- 
 uous with the rest of itself if the processes are ever 
 given in representation. A world, a representative 
 world, which can thus so faithfully copy, even in 
 part, another world which is somehow its cause, 
 would appear to contain within itself all the ele- 
 ments necessary to show how process and result 
 are related to each other, at least ''in representa- 
 tion." And if "in representation," then surely 
 the need of duplicated worlds has disappeared so 
 far as any positive result for knowledge is con- 
 cerned, for process and result would, in that event, 
 be given in a manner wherein their relation to each 
 other could be defined. It would appear artificial 
 and strained, therefore, if we were to continue to 
 suppose that the problem of the relation between 
 process and result is ultimately of an epistemologi- 
 cal character. It appears rather as a problem of 
 reorganization and rearrangement, of new relations 
 in one continuous world, not the problem of the 
 reduplication of a world forever excluded from 
 the place where it is known. 
 
 In general, then, the problem of the continuity 
 and homogeneity of the perceived world with the 
 processes which give rise to it appears to be a prob- 
 lem lying wholly within the domain of positive 
 knowledge. We may proceed to solve it without 
 first securing epistemological warrant for so doing.
 
 164 PERCEPTION AND EPISTEMOLOGY 
 
 If we fail, the reason can hardly be that we lack 
 the proper epistemology from the vantage ground 
 of which our procedure may be philosophically 
 scrutinized and corrected. For, again, the proc- 
 esses of perception are such as we discover them 
 to be, or they are not. If they are not, there is no 
 problem of continuity and homogeneity. If they 
 are, that problem, from the nature of the case, does 
 not involve the question of the validity of our knowl- 
 edge of the processes or of the world resulting 
 from them, but only the question of the sort of con- 
 nection which exists between the processes and the 
 resulting world. That connection is not cognitive, 
 because the results of perception are not the 
 knowledge of its processes ; the thing seen is not 
 the knowledge of the mechanism of vision. 
 
 The same result might be reached by consider- 
 ing the problem of perception directly and in de- 
 tail. There are many cases in which we make a 
 distinction between what we perceive and what 
 really exists, cases, that is, where we seem forced to 
 distinguish between appearance and reality, and 
 ask whether we perceive reality as it is. Every one 
 is familiar with such cases. Who sees reality cor- 
 rectly, the color-blind observer or the one not 
 color-blind ? Now it is interesting to observe 
 that when we attempt to answer such a question 
 we really restate it so that it loses all its epistemo- 
 logical character. For what we seek to discover is 
 not whether the color-blind see reality as it is, but
 
 F. J. E. WOODBRIDGE 165 
 
 why they make the color discriminations they 
 do. If we succeed in our discovery, we have 
 learned that reality is so constituted that, given 
 certain conditions, certain results are the outcome. 
 We need no epistemology to estimate the truth of 
 our discovery. Again: weperceive the stroke of the 
 distant woodsman's axe and its sound in succes- 
 sion. How, then, can we be said to perceive reality 
 correctly, since stroke and sound are in reality 
 simultaneous ? But the diflSculty thus presented 
 is gratuitous. For most assuredly did we perceive 
 stroke and sound simultaneously, the constitution 
 of things would have to be different from what we 
 have discovered it to be; light and sound would 
 then travel at the same rate. The so-called spatial 
 and temporal discrepancies in perception turn out 
 on examination to be, not matters of cognitive im- 
 portance putting the validity of perception in peril, 
 but definite and ascertainable factors in the consti- 
 tution of the world. 
 
 The question, whether we perceive the world as 
 it really is, turns out thus to be an ambiguous ques- 
 tion. If it means, is a perceived world the same as 
 an unperceived world, the answer is, naturally, in 
 the negative. If it means, have we discovered how 
 we perceive the world, our answer will disclose 
 whether we have or not. But if it is claimed that 
 from the nature of the case we can never tell 
 whether the discovery has been made, it is quite 
 idle to speculate about the matter. It would ap-
 
 166 PERCEPTION AND EPISTEMOLOGY 
 
 pear, therefore, that whatever problems a theory 
 of perception may involve, they are not problems 
 of epistemology, but of natural science and posi- 
 tive knowledge. No matter what diflSculties these 
 problems present, they furnish no warrant for 
 the assumption that they necessitate an epistemol- 
 ogy which shall estimate the truth of those bodies 
 of knowledge we build up directly from consid- 
 ering how we perceive and what we perceive. They 
 necessitate only problems of definition and positive 
 relationship. In the words of Jevons : " We can- 
 not suppose, and there is no reason to suppose, 
 that by the constitution of the mind we are obliged 
 to think of things differently from the manner in 
 which they are." ^ 
 
 ^ "Lessons in Logic," p. 11.
 
 SUBSTITUTIONALISM
 
 SUBSTITUTIONALISM 
 
 By C. a. Strong 
 
 1 O provide the metaphysical background neces- 
 sary for a full comprehension of my theory, I must 
 ask the reader to make with me a certain assump- 
 tion. This is that our perceptive experiences are 
 not in the order which they reveal, or rather not in 
 the part or place of that order which they reveal, 
 but in a place represented by that of the brain- 
 events with which they are (as we say) correlated. 
 The experiences, in other words, are the brain- 
 events, considered in themselves ; and all other 
 physical events, in themselves, are what may be 
 called infra- experiences — something of like nature 
 with human experiences, only far less highly or- 
 ganized. This is in truth as reasonable an 
 hypothesis as that the experiences are themselves 
 in the physical (or rather the extra- bodily physi- 
 cal) relations ; that is, it puts them in the same 
 world with the object, only in a different place — 
 in the brain, instead of in the object perceived. 
 The chief advantage of the conception lies, to my 
 mind, in permitting a better explanation of the 
 relation of mind and body than would be pos- 
 
 169
 
 170 SUBSTITUTIONALISM 
 
 sible on the alternative theory. In any case I ask 
 the reader to entertain it, and to note the con- 
 sequences that follow in regard to the nature 
 of cognition. 
 
 By cognition, here, I mean mere apprehension of 
 or acquaintance with an object, whether it be a 
 physical fact or a mental state, a memory or a 
 feeling in another mind — not that placing and 
 classification of objects thus cognized which takes 
 place by connecting them in thought with other 
 objects similarly apprehended. 
 
 The essential thesis of this paper is a proposition 
 in regard to the mechanism of cognition as thus 
 defined: that it happens by the projection of a 
 sentient experience into the place of the object 
 cognized, and is not a species of intuition (either 
 in the sense of involving an immediate unity of 
 cognition and object, or in the sense of appre- 
 hension of the latter by a qualityless conscious- 
 ness). By projection I mean that the experience 
 evokes actions (and thoughts, which are a sort 
 of actions) appropriate to the object and not to 
 itself as an experience. 
 
 Thus in memory (if I may assume that memory 
 is the cognition of an earlier experience, and not 
 simply the repetition in fainter form of a percep- 
 tion) we have a past experience which is the object 
 and a present experience which is the medium of 
 knowledge, knower, or subject. The present ex- 
 perience does not intuite the past experience (in
 
 C. A. STRONG 171 
 
 either of the above senses : either as identical with 
 it — the past experience come to Hfe again — or 
 as affording immediate and, so to speak, achro- 
 matic vision of it). It is a more or less perfect re- 
 production of it, and it provokes us to act as if 
 what we had to do with were the object and not 
 itself as a present state. In other words, it earns 
 its title to be a memory by serving as a satisfac- 
 tory substitute for the object in the regulation of 
 conduct. We may call this the substitutional theory 
 of knowledge, or, more briefly, substitutionalism. 
 
 Substitutionalism must not be confused with 
 what has been called the representative theory of 
 knowledge. This theory supposes that what we 
 have immediately to do with or cognize is the 
 present revived experience, and that from this we 
 pass to the object, the earlier experience, by in- 
 ference. But, in the first place, there is no "we," 
 distinct from the present experience, to cognize it, 
 the notion of a qualityless consciousness being a 
 superstition; but what we mean by "we," or the 
 subject in this case, is precisely the present ex- 
 perience. And, in the second place, this experi- 
 ence does not in any way cognize or apprehend 
 itself. What it cognizes or apprehends is the past 
 experience or object, in that it reproduces it and 
 will shortly elicit reactions appropriate to it. There 
 being no other thing cognized in the premises, no 
 middle fact or representative between subject and 
 object, the cognizing must be allowed to be direct.
 
 172 SUBSTITUTIONALISM 
 
 So that, on our theory, the object is at once inde- 
 pendently real and directly known. 
 
 On the other hand it is not immediately {i. e.y 
 without medium) but substitutionally known — 
 known by the projection of a present experience, 
 as truly possessed of definite qualities as the past 
 experience it knows. The genuineness of the 
 knowing will consequently depend on two things : 
 (1) on the knowing experience reproducing the 
 qualities of the experience known with sufficient 
 accuracy; (2) on its eliciting reactions really 
 appropriate to the latter. Now, since the function 
 of cognition exists primarily and originally for 
 practical ends, what is sufficient accuracy will be 
 determined mainly by the eliciting of the right 
 reactions ; whence it follows that, in a given case, 
 the knowing experience may vary markedly from 
 its prototype in richness of detail, in the cast of its 
 qualities, and even in more fundamental ways, 
 without forfeiting its pretension to be a memory 
 so long as only it calls forth the right reactions. 
 Hence we must distinguish that projection of the 
 present experience which constitutes the past ex- 
 perience as remembered from the past experience 
 as it really was. The latter alone is the object of 
 knowledge ; we shall be following accepted usage 
 if we call the former its content. I need not say 
 that this distinction is of capital importance — in 
 no way inferior in importance to that so much 
 insisted on between content and subject.
 
 C. A. STRONG 173 
 
 We are now in possession of the three funda- 
 mental epistemological categories, which are 
 SUBJECT, CONTENT, and OBJECT. I shall tr^' to 
 establish that this account of cognition, with the 
 distinction of these three categories, applies not 
 only to memory, but also to perception, and 
 even to internal observation or introspection. 
 
 We are apt to suppose the case of perception 
 essentially different from that of memory — to 
 conceive that it involves actual experience of a 
 present object whereas memor}^ only involves 
 representation of an absent one. This is because 
 we erroneously identify the object with the sen- 
 sible appearance, or projected visual experience. 
 A moment's thought exposes this fallacy. If the 
 visual experience, either in itself or projectively, 
 were identical with the object, the connected tactile 
 experience, being something totally different, would 
 be a second object; yet we feel that touch and 
 vision have to do with the same thing. A blind 
 man may as truly cognize a sphere by handhng it 
 as a normal man by seeing it, may he not ? Then 
 the sphere itself cannot be essentially either visual 
 or tactile. 
 
 But the demonstrative proof that the object is 
 other than the sensible appearance is what may 
 be called the lateness of perception. The sensible 
 appearance is necessarily synchronous with the 
 perceptive state; whereas the object (i.e., that
 
 174 SUBSTITUTIONALISM 
 
 phase of it which is perceived) belongs to an earher 
 moment. Thus a star which we see in the sky 
 may have ceased to exist ages ago: a sufficient 
 proof, surely, that what we now see (I mean the 
 visual phenomenon — not that which the visual 
 phenomenon reveals) is not the object itself. We 
 are habituated to the notion that a sound, for in- 
 stance that of a distant whistle, is heard at a later 
 moment than that at which its objective cause 
 occurs — indeed, we see the escape of steam sev- 
 eral instants before we hear the sound : we should 
 apply the same analogy to vision. In both cases 
 the perceptive experience arises only after the 
 light-rays and sound-waves have reached the body. 
 Hence the projected perceptive experience cannot 
 be the object itself, but at most the object as per- 
 ceived; it cannot be the object sensu stricto but 
 only the content. 
 
 Perhaps the reader may doubt whether there is 
 any object distinct from the perceptive experience 
 as projected; the assumption of one may seem to 
 him to involve dualism and an outsoaring of ex- 
 perience not permissible to an empiricist, or indeed 
 to any other man. At least in the case of memory 
 he will admit that we unhesitatingly outsoar both 
 the present experience and its content, and assume 
 an object independently real. But that object, 
 you may reply, is only another experience. The 
 answer suggests how the difficulty about dualism 
 might be met in the case of perception: namely,
 
 C. A. STRONG 175 
 
 provided the object could be conceived as "only 
 another experience " — as an outlying part of 
 the world of sentiency, fundamentally of like 
 nature with the sentient experience that knows it. 
 
 In contemporary philosophical controversy we 
 may distinguish the following three groups : the 
 realists proper, maintaining that knowledge reveals 
 an object independently existent; the transcen- 
 dental idealists, holding that it discloses a content 
 eternally valid ; and the immediate empiricists 
 (or pragmatists in metaphysics), who teach that it 
 has no reference beyond experience but is con- 
 cerned with the evoking of beneficial reactions.* 
 It may be interesting to note how these various 
 contentions appear upon the substitutional theory. 
 
 The case of memory surely bears out the con- 
 tention of the realists, that the object has existence 
 independently of the knowing state and is in no 
 way constituted by its being known. And we have 
 seen that the same thesis may be defended with 
 reference to perception. It is only the object as 
 remembered or perceived, the content, that is con- 
 stituted by the knowing, and we may suspect that 
 the transcendental idealists have mistaken this for 
 the object itself. If, finally, the object in perception 
 
 ' I omit the subiecti\'ists from this list because they play at present too 
 effaced a role in philosopliical controversy. Subjectivism is the man of straw 
 that every novice may spurn at, even though he have failed to assimilate the 
 important insight it embodies.
 
 176 SUBSTITUTIONALISM 
 
 can be shown to be a non- human experience exist- 
 ing at a moment shghtly earher than that at which 
 we substitutional^ perceive it, the view of the 
 immediate empiricists that there is no object inde- 
 pendent of experience will only bear the construc- 
 tion in which experience means all experience, not 
 that in which it means the particular experience 
 engaged in knowing. On the other hand we may 
 concede to them that knowledge has no reference 
 beyond experience in this sense, that there is noth- 
 ing in the knowing experience itself at the moment 
 to indicate that it is cognitive or self-transcendent, 
 and that its being so comes to light empirically only 
 in the subsequent fact that it elicits actions appro- 
 priate to an object beyond it and not to itself. 
 
 What the transcendental idealists call the object 
 is, we saw, really the content. Now to the con- 
 tent esse = percipi applies : it exists (or, more accu- 
 rately, appears) only so long as the perceptive 
 experience continues. So that regarding the fact 
 of non-continuance the transcendental idealists — 
 and the Berkeleians too, though what they refer 
 to is perhaps rather the perceptive experience — 
 are right, and wrong only in supposing what 
 they are speaking of to be the object. On the 
 other hand, if the substitutional theory be cor- 
 rect, the naive realists are in error when they 
 suppose that we perceive the object immediately 
 (without medium) and as it is in itself. This con- 
 ception shows that what they also, like the tran-
 
 C. A. STRONG 177 
 
 scendental idealists and the immediate empiricists, 
 have in mind when they speak of the object is the 
 sensible appearance or content.^ Now, if content 
 and object agreed in every respect, both as to 
 qualities and as to relations, knowledge would be 
 as true, or, more exactly, as adequate, as if it were 
 immediate; though even then it would not be so. 
 But to take for granted that, despite their exis- 
 tential distinctness, they do in fact thus agree is 
 to overlook the large element of misrepresentation 
 and mere symbolism that is consistent with the 
 eliciting of the right reactions. Naive reahsm is 
 indeed the essence of theoreticalism or what Kant 
 called dogmatism. 
 
 To sum up: the naive realists are the special 
 champions of the object — but they exaggerate the 
 directness and adequacy of our knowledge of it; 
 the transcendental idealists are the protagonists of 
 the content — but they mistake it for the object, 
 and so are betrayed into declaring the latter a 
 thing discontinuous and relative to the mind ; the 
 immediate empiricists espouse the cause of (what 
 they call) experience^ — but they overlook the fact 
 that experiences are cognitive when they lead to 
 certain reactions precisely because those reactions 
 are adjusted to independent objects. 
 
 ' Unless it be simply the perceptive experience. 
 
 * What they call experience — for it will be found on examination that 
 this is really content, or at least a fusion of content with experience in which 
 the latter loses its purely sentient character and the former illegitimately 
 gains existence. 
 
 12
 
 178 SUBSTITUTIONALISM 
 
 Let us next consider what these theories have 
 to say about the knowledge of consciousness (or 
 introspection so far as not apperceptive). 
 
 The naive reahsts, since they mistake the sensi- 
 ble appearance for the object and hold the latter 
 to be physical and not in any sense psychical, 
 must perforce assume a qualityless, "transparent" 
 (I quote from one of them) consciousness as that 
 which perceives it ; a consciousness whose existence 
 is distinctly additional to that of the object. But 
 since at the moment this consciousness is wholly 
 engrossed with the cognition of the object and 
 unaware of itself, and at the next moment it is gone, 
 the assertion of it seems to rest upon no empirical 
 basis — as the word " transparent" admits. Other 
 naive realists seek to define consciousness as a 
 peculiar kind of relation between objects, which 
 objects can be in and yet get out of without for- 
 feiting their existence: but, so far as the relation 
 is additional to the things related, the preceding 
 argument holds. Still others (now of the immedi- 
 ate empiricist type) regard the object as in another 
 aspect psychical, and tell us that the perception is 
 "in the object"; but since the latter, as we have 
 seen, belongs to an earlier moment than the brain- 
 state which corresponds to it, this amounts to the 
 paradox that the perception of a star, for instance, 
 happened years ago and not at the moment when 
 as a matter of fact we perceive it; or else to the 
 supersubtle doctrine that perception is never per-
 
 C. A. STRONG 179 
 
 ception proper but always memory of a perception 
 not ours. In short, the sensible appearance having 
 been transferred to the place of the object, nothing 
 verifiable remains on this side to figure as the 
 perception of it. Emotions, pleasures and pains, 
 desires, thoughts are obvious and discoverable 
 states : perceptions are sought for in vain, or else 
 relegated to the world beyond the mind. All this 
 time psychology goes on assuming that colors 
 and shapes in their immediacy are what we mean 
 by perceptions. Evidently the excellence of the 
 naive realist's knowledge of the object has cost 
 him a subject. 
 
 If, on the contrary, as the substitutionalist 
 maintains, that which plays the role of subject or 
 consciousness is an experience projected, and the 
 projection is due to subsequent reactions making 
 the experience virtually the object, that is, a cogni- 
 tive substitute for it, then the moment we abandon 
 the objectifying attitude involved in these reactions 
 the experience (or a replica of it) stands before 
 us in its immediacy as that which a moment ago 
 was the subject or knower; knower not by force 
 of anything intrinsic, but simply in virtue of its 
 external relations and of the role which it played 
 as a medium of adjustment to the object. The 
 knower could never be known if it were not at the 
 moment (I must not say experiencec?, but) experi- 
 ence — an experience that can be recalled a moment 
 after and then viewed in a different set of relations.
 
 180 SUBSTITUTIONALISM 
 
 The transcendental idealist, next, since he iden- 
 tifies the object with the content and has nothing 
 beside, and since content is a thing subjective in 
 its material and objective in its reference, will 
 declare object and subject to be aspects of a single 
 fact. And this single fact he will doubtless (since 
 he has nothing else) call by the name of "experi- 
 ence." An experience thus, in the case of memory, 
 means for the consistent trans cenden talis t not the 
 past state remembered nor the present state that 
 remembers it, but the past state as it appears to the 
 present state ; in short, an appearance or phenome- 
 non. And the trans cendentalist will stoutly protest 
 that there is no subject to which "experience" is 
 given (the subject, according to him, being merely 
 the abstract / think which is another aspect of any 
 content), the necessity of a knowing experience 
 distinct from the content being thus confused 
 with the necessity of a qualityless consciousness 
 distinct from experience ; while his opponent, who 
 agrees with him in defining experience as the unity 
 of subject and object (i. e., in applying the term to 
 the content), will as stoutly insist that, since con- 
 tents are inactive things, they must be given to a 
 subject or "activity" that is not empirical at all. 
 From this maze of misconceptions and mutual 
 misunderstandings the substitutionalist is saved by 
 his insight that the proper thing to be called ex- 
 perience is not an experience projected into the place 
 of another experience but an experience simply.
 
 C. A. STRONG 181 
 
 But what is the proper thing to be called con- 
 sciousness ? Consciousness, we have seen, may 
 mean sentient experience so far as exercising tlie 
 function of knowing, and this is the sense in which 
 the word is commonly used by psychologists ; but 
 it might also conceivably be used, and is indeed 
 currently by philosophers, for the mere function of 
 knowing considered apart from the existence that 
 exercises it. This is the distinction between " con- 
 sciousness as an existence " and " consciousness as 
 a knowing." Content is the inner aspect of some- 
 thing which in its outer aspect is a functional 
 relation between two existences : the latter is con- 
 sciousness as a knowing. There is indeed such 
 a distinction of aspects, and consciousness as a 
 knowing is a perfectly real thing (though it might 
 better be called simply cognition) ; the error lies 
 in denying that consciousness as a knowing is the 
 function of an existence, or in conceiving that the 
 existence of consciousness, in any sense in which 
 psychologists have a right to speak of it, is simply 
 the existence of consciousness as a knowing (which 
 a httle reflection would show to be not an exist- 
 ence at all). 
 
 This distinction is, I think, the key to the inter- 
 minable dispute over the efficacy of consciousness. 
 Those who deny efficacy do so because they are 
 thinking of consciousness as a knowing, or the ex- 
 ternal aspect of content: which is indeed inactive, 
 because not an existence. Those who assert it are
 
 182 SUBSTITUTIONALISM 
 
 thinking of consciousness as an existence, and sub- 
 stitutionalism is proof that this may be con- 
 ceived as of the nature of experience or psychical. 
 
 But let us come to the immediate empiricists. 
 Since they wholly reject an object distinct from the 
 present experience, considering that the existence 
 of experience is simply the givenness of objects, their 
 cue must be to deny the existence of consciousness 
 as a thing true at the moment and explain the con- 
 ception of it as arising through the subsequent 
 overhauling and rethinking of experience. They 
 will therefore protest against the notion that expe- 
 rience is inherently psychical. Experiences, they 
 will tell us, are originally objective. They become 
 subjective or psychical only when, viewing them in 
 retrospect, we take them in a connection in which 
 they did not originally present themselves. To 
 suppose them originally psychical, to seek to build 
 up the world out of experiences taken as psychical, 
 is psychologism, a condemnable theory. 
 
 Now, when the substitutionalist speaks of ex- 
 periences as sentient or psychical, he does not of 
 course mean that they are inherently cognitive or 
 subjective. Experiences, we have seen, are cog- 
 nitive only in virtue of an external relation. He 
 means that they form the substance of the know- 
 ing mind, and that perceptive experiences, for in- 
 stance, exist in exactly the same way, and for the 
 same brief space of time, as emotional experiences 
 or experiences of pleasure and pain. Moreover,
 
 C. A. STRONG 183 
 
 though the recognition of the cognitive function of 
 experiences can only be subsequent and retrospec- 
 tive, yet what is recognized is something true of the 
 earher moment: the experiences did actually stand 
 in these external relations, and they were therefore 
 originally cognitive or subjective although not in- 
 herently so. The cognitive or subjective charac- 
 ter is not conferred by the later retrospective act 
 — experiences do not become subjective, as the 
 immediate empiricist with a mistaken idealism 
 suggests. But this means that they were, orig- 
 inally, entitled to be called consciousness, in so far 
 as the exercising of the cognitive function entitles 
 anything to be called consciousness. The exist- 
 ence of consciousness, in other words, should not 
 be denied but its proper identity made clear. 
 
 Strictly speaking, neither human experience qud 
 exercising the function of knowing nor human 
 experience qud sentient existence is entitled to be 
 called consciousness. By its derivation — con-scious- 
 ness — the word signifies the knowing of objects 
 together with awareness of the subject. It refers 
 to that common experience in which, when ab- 
 sorbed in the contemplation of objects, we suddenly 
 awake to the consciousness of ourselves as contem- 
 plating them. Not the self or subject that con- 
 templates, but self-awareness, is what consciousness 
 properly means. It has, however, been trans- 
 ferred by metonymy to the object of such aware- 
 ness, the self or subject, and is constantly used in
 
 184 SUBSTITUTIONALISM 
 
 that sense by psychologists. Finally, philosophers 
 have seized upon the word and applied it to the 
 mere function of knowing, in so far as knowing 
 appears to present its object with a contemplative 
 directness. 
 
 We may sum up these results by indicating their 
 bearing upon the problem of metaphysics or on- 
 tology — that of defining the ultimate nature of 
 the world. The metaphysician who would base 
 his theory truly on experience has occasion to ask 
 himself with some scrupulousness what it is exactly 
 that experience reveals : what it is that is given. 
 For out of the fragments of the given, or others 
 fundamentally Hke them — fragments material, 
 psychical, objective, or whatever they may prove 
 to be — he must put the universe together. 
 
 Now "given" (that pet term of philosophers, 
 which common men know not) is not only ambig- 
 uous but triguous, if there were such a word: it 
 may mean known; or present in the way of con- 
 tent, conceived; or present as experience. (Present 
 to what, do you ask, in the latter case ? Present 
 as a schoolboy is present whose teacher has not 
 yet arrived; present to the walls and the benches 
 — here the infra- experiences that make up the 
 rest of the psychic organism ; and the teacher, of 
 course, the supervenient self- perception). 
 
 (1) If "given" means known^ then what is 
 known is exclusively the object. Whence it follows
 
 C. A. STRONG 185 
 
 that the universe must be put together out of ob- 
 jects. And indeed, since philosophy may safely be 
 said to be a synthesis of things which we know, 
 there could manifestly be no better material out 
 of which to put it together. But, in doing so, the 
 philosopher must not allow any trace of experience 
 or the knower to cling to the conception of objects 
 — he must not say that objects are inconceivable 
 apart from a subject, or that they are essentially 
 some one's experiences — since otherwise he is 
 including in the conception of what is known some- 
 thing additional to what knowledge has revealed 
 about it. It does not belong to the conception of 
 a thing or existence to be known by or given to a 
 subject; this is an extraneous relation, which 
 accrues to it accidentally. It does not belong to 
 the conception of my mind, for instance, to be 
 known by you, though as an idealist you should 
 egregiously think so. If then "given" means 
 known, the universe consists of objects which are 
 not essentially such, which are not experiences in 
 the sense that they have anything of the knowing 
 experience about their persons, and which are not 
 other experiences than the knowing experience 
 except so far as knowledge, original or subsequent, 
 discovers this to be so. On the other hand these 
 objects must not be taken at their face value, as 
 identical in quality with what the first knowing 
 experience presents them as being, since knowledge 
 is substitutional and its primarily practical function
 
 186 SUBSTITUTIONALISM 
 
 allows of a considerable divergence between the 
 first presentment of an object and the object as it 
 is (and is finally discovered to be). What objects 
 are we can of course learn only through present- 
 ments, or through a collation and criticism of 
 different presentments. This, we shall find, is the 
 ultimate task of epistemology. 
 
 (2) "Given," next, may mean present as con- 
 tent (this indeed is probably the normal significa- 
 tion of the word) ; and those who have nothing 
 but content and who call that "experience" will 
 accordingly hold that the world must be put to- 
 gether out of experiences taken objectively. But 
 an experience taken objectively means, in the case 
 of memory, that you must not take the remember- 
 ing experience and you must not take the experi- 
 ence remembered, but you must take the latter as 
 seen from the point of view of the former — in 
 short, a memorial appearance. And, similarly, 
 in the case of perception, it means that we must 
 not take objects themselves, but we must take 
 them as seen from a hundred or a thousand dif- 
 ferent points of view. To perceptive and me- 
 morial appearances we must add all the different 
 conceptions of the real, the possible, the fantastic, 
 the non-existent that ever have been — since every- 
 thing that a human being has ever experienced is 
 indefeasibly real, just as he experienced it — and 
 put them together into a universe as best we can. 
 The result will, I fear, be a universe consisting
 
 C. A. STRONG 187 
 
 in large part of men's foolish and erroneous notions 
 of things.^ We shall later see that contents are 
 not existences or metaphysical building- blocks at 
 all, and that a universe composed of them is a 
 mere chaos of appearances, a nulliverse. 
 
 (3) "Given," finally, may mean existent as 
 experience, and this is in one sense the givenest 
 of all. That is, it is most direct and vital to the 
 knower, to his inner life and sentiency. Unfor- 
 tunately, in the other senses of the word it is 
 not at all given, either to an intuiting "conscious- 
 ness " or to itself or to anything else. What makes 
 experience appear to be thus given is the fact that 
 it is so easily emerged from and thought about. 
 We thinking beings, particularly philosophers, no 
 sooner have an experience than, presto ! we think 
 about it and so convert it into an object. But 
 in its primal character it was not an object; and 
 so, if we take experiences in this sense and use 
 them as building-stones to construct a universe, 
 we shall again have to divest them carefully of all 
 subjectivity and abjure the doctrine that the things 
 which we know cannot exist without a knower. 
 Now, since experiences, in order to be talked about 
 by philosophers, must have undergone this sea- 
 change and become objects, the third sense of 
 "given" comes round in its metaphysical result to 
 
 * But are not men's foolish and erroneous notions of things, it may be 
 asked, parts of the universe ? Qud sentient experiences, doubtless, but not 
 qud concepts. A concept is not an existence.
 
 188 SUBSTITUTIONALISM 
 
 the first sense, leaving those only who turn contents 
 into existences insecurely perched between two 
 stools. 
 
 Objects, as we have seen, are given always sub- 
 stitutionally, under the form of contents, and the 
 knowing experience is, so to say, the uniform giver. 
 While then it is false that the knowing experience 
 is the only thing we know directly, since it is not 
 known, or given in this sense, at the moment at all, 
 it is the only thing that by projection serves for 
 the presentation of objects and that can be known 
 retrospectively in its unprojected immediacy. If, 
 therefore, in retrospect we abandon the objectify- 
 ing practical attitude that gave to it projection, 
 we have before us the piece of reality which a mo- 
 ment before we personally were; and this is the 
 only piece of reality that can be given to us with 
 so high a degree of immediateness and adequacy. 
 This unique piece of reality proves, when so cog- 
 nized, to be a sentient experience. 
 
 But I shall be reminded that I have advanced 
 the view that objects of introspection too are sub- 
 stitutionally known, and asked whether this does 
 not place all objects of knowledge, including even 
 our most intimate experiences, in their proper 
 reality effectually beyond us, so that what things 
 are in themselves we can never know but only 
 adjust our relations to them. We are now at the 
 heart of the subject. This is indeed a searching
 
 C. A. STRONG 189 
 
 question, and if the suggested answer be correct 
 panempiricism and all other gnostic theories must 
 disappear from sight in the Unknowable. The 
 question has two stages : (1) What ground have we, 
 rational or other, for assuming that the knowing 
 experience has to do with an object at all, distinct 
 from its content? (2) What ground have we for 
 thinking that tPie content holds good of or describes 
 the object, so as really to give us acquaintance 
 with it, or is true of it in any other sense than that 
 of enabling us to live in its presence? 
 
 These are questions too large to be discussed in 
 the present paper. I will only say that to me per- 
 sonally it does not seem impossible to answer 
 them satisfactorily, and to obtain the iBnal ac- 
 quittal of knowledge (ultimate knowledge, that is) 
 from the charge of not telling us the truth about 
 reality. 
 
 Let us consider, in closing, certain consequences 
 of the fact (if it be a fact) that the knowledge of 
 consciousness or human experience is substitu- 
 tional. We should have here the same trio of cate- 
 gories — object, subject, content — as before, and, 
 introspective knowledge being retrospective, the 
 cognitive relation would again be aimed backward, 
 as in memory; there would be, in other words, the 
 experience introspected, the later experience medi- 
 ating introspection of it, and the projection of the 
 latter into the seat of the former in the shape of
 
 190 SUBSTITUTIONALISM 
 
 content. Hence the possibility of the same three 
 theories as before: a reahstic theory ignoring the 
 whole apparatus of cognition and supposing the 
 introspected experience somehow to stand before 
 us with aboriginal immediacy and authenticity — 
 naive realism, in short, in the field of introspection ; 
 a transcendental ideahsm in the same field, regard- 
 ing the mental fact as a thing whose essence con- 
 sists in being observed (the proposition "feehngs 
 exist by being felt" being confused with the propo- 
 sition "feehngs exist by being introspected") and 
 degrading our states of mind to the level of appear- 
 ances and patches upon reality — in one word, 
 epiphenomena ; finally, an immediate empiricism 
 denying the psychical, as we have seen, to be a 
 proper character of experience or reality at all. 
 The labor of the substitutionalist must be devoted 
 to showing, if possible, that in this case too the de- 
 liverances of knowledge strike through to reality 
 and illumine it. 
 
 But we have once more been brought round 
 to what is the deepest problem of the theory of 
 knowledge — a problem of validity and not of 
 mere mechanism: whether it is possible to make 
 good our instinctive conviction that knowledge is 
 really knowledge. 
 
 In the foregoing essay I have talked bravely of 
 "my theory," but the instructed reader will have 
 recognized that it is in essentials Professor James's,
 
 C. A. STRONG 191 
 
 as may be seen from his articles " On the Function 
 of Cognition," Mind, 1885, pp. 27-44; "The 
 Knowing of Things Together," Psychological Re- 
 view, 1895, pp. 106-111; and "A World of Pure 
 Experience, I," Journal of Philosophy, etc., 1904, 
 pp. 538-543. 
 
 Honor then to whom honor is due.
 
 WORLD-PICTURES
 
 WORLD -PICTURES 
 
 By Walter Boughton Pitkin 
 
 It once happened that a circle of logicians and 
 scientists withdrew from the turmoil of daily life 
 to discuss the important questions of metaphysics. 
 After having talked and waxed wise through learned 
 intercourse for an unknown period, one of them 
 chanced to look off into the world they had tem- 
 porarily deserted, and discovered, to the dismay 
 of the whole party, that the common people had 
 fallen under the sway of a band of base sorcerers 
 during their absence. The sorcerers, it appeared 
 to the horrified onlookers, had won the masses 
 over to a cheap but pleasing philosophy by play- 
 ing upon their artistic instincts. From the shouts 
 that reached the ears of the thoughtful men, it was 
 inferred that the entire world of ordinary con- 
 sciousnesses had gone mad over a picture philos- 
 ophy, for men were heard to say: "I have a very 
 good picture of that in my mind," and "The scene 
 is indelibly printed upon my brain,'* and so on. 
 And hordes of the possessed gathered around the 
 sorcerers to listen with bated breath to Platonesque 
 discourses. Filled with pity at the plight of the 
 multitudes thus enthralled by miserable magic, the 
 
 195
 
 196 WORLD-PICTURES 
 
 thoughtful men resolved to descend forthwith from 
 the windy hilltop where they had been convened 
 and to break the insidious power. 
 
 After seeking vainly to disillusion some common 
 people encountered on the downward road, the 
 thoughtful reformers united in an onslaught upon 
 one of the sorcerers whom they overtook just as 
 he was about to wave his wand of sophistries over 
 a large band of young men who had come to him 
 in search of the Truth. The reformers held their 
 peace long enough to hear the first words addressed 
 to the newcomers. But no sooner had the sorcerer 
 proclaimed that his was a philosophy of world- 
 pictures, than a biologist in the ranks of the 
 thoughtful men cried out: "Spare yourselves the 
 temptation of being lulled by these phantasms, 
 O youths ! There are no world- pictures.'* 
 
 " A madman ! " somebody hooted. But the biolo- 
 gist was undaunted. 
 
 " Call me what you will. The truth stands that 
 there are no world- pictures. We men of science 
 and philosophy have wrestled over the problem a 
 month for every minute your misguided teacher has 
 spent seriously over it; and in spite of many dif- 
 ferences on other matters we agree that the world 
 is so constituted that pictures are impossible. What 
 you imagine are pictures are only rough symbols, 
 signal lanterns in the night of ignorance." 
 
 "He speaks in pictures himseK!" exclaimed a 
 fair-haired artist.
 
 WALTER BOUGHTON PITKIN 197 
 
 "If you do not want us to smell a joke," called 
 out a serious young engineer in the throng, "give 
 us reasons for the faith that is in you." 
 
 " Look at that great dog across the road, young 
 sceptic," the biologist said, "and tell me what you 
 actually see." 
 
 "A shaggy, good-natured, young St. Bernard." 
 
 "I have blurred the paint on your world-picture 
 sadly!" retorted the scientist tauntingly. "You 
 see only a colored form, various shades of red and 
 yellow, all of which you interpret by a sheer act of 
 your own mind as a shaggy, good-natured young 
 St. Bernard. You do not see the name, nor the 
 size nor the shape nor even the color you ascribe 
 to the dog. I should like to know what sort 
 of a picture the world has given you of itself, 
 then." 
 
 "The man's right!" exclaimed the artist in ad- 
 miration. "I can speak with all the authority of 
 my painful experiences in my master's studio; the 
 colors and forms you think you see you just im- 
 agine. But, after all, I'm not sure that this dis- 
 proves all world-pictures." 
 
 "It doesn't," joined in a chemist. "World- 
 pictures are not these common hasty perceptions 
 that rush in and out of the mind like flares of sum- 
 mer lightning. The great teacher " — pointing 
 toward the sorcerer, who was listening courteously 
 but with some trace of amusement — " means by 
 world- pictures the scientific theories that have been
 
 198 WORLD-PICTURES 
 
 built up by painstaking experiments and strict logic. 
 In our mental picture of the law of gravitation, for 
 instance, we have a genuine photograph of the be- 
 havior of masses. All the refinements of trained 
 observation and reflection have contributed to 
 make this law an exact statement of the facts 
 about which it speaks." 
 
 "True, save for one word," the biologist an- 
 swered. "Your law formulates the nature of gravi- 
 tating matter with a few letters and mathematical 
 symbols; but it does not truly picture it. It is a 
 shorthand expression for the behavior of an infi- 
 nite number of molecules, meteors, and nebulae. 
 But it does not give you an actual image of all the 
 motions of telescopic and microscopic bodies to 
 which its brief signs refer and of which they claim 
 to be an explanation. And you should be glad, 
 young men, that you do not have to know the laws 
 of Nature through the medium of pictures. If 
 your minds were photograph galleries of the uni- 
 verse, you would soon be as embarrassed as a 
 shopkeeper who tried to keep account of all 
 transactions in his store by setting up a kinetoscope 
 wherewith to snapshot the acts of clerks, cus- 
 tomers, and wagon boys. Your knowledge of the 
 world is luckily a set of accounts with Reality ; your 
 theories are the abbreviations of a bookkeeper, and 
 they have all the advantages of brevity, simplicity, 
 and freedom from useless details. Why crave 
 so madly, then, for world-pictures, when you
 
 WALTER BOUGHTON PITKIN 199 
 
 already have something infinitely better for human 
 purposes?'* 
 
 Silence reigned among the hearers. Finally a 
 country doctor agreed that the scientist's words 
 fitted admirably in with what was known about 
 the mechanism of the nervous system. "I never 
 could straighten out the puzzle of world- pictures," 
 he confessed. "How physical objects can ever 
 reproduce themselves at the inside ends of the 
 sensory nerves is simply unimaginable. I can 
 understand how some sort of a current passes along 
 the nerve tracts and registers itself somehow in the 
 form of consciousness." 
 
 "Wonderful man!" was the murmur of many. 
 "This is the arch -mystery." 
 
 "But it is absurd to say that the effect of a 
 long chain of intricate causes can look Uke some 
 early member of that chain." 
 
 "Perhaps the dissenter is right," a waverer 
 shouted. " Let us turn him upon the great teacher 
 himself, and we shall at least listen to a rare 
 debate." 
 
 "Pray do not call me a great teacher," expostu- 
 lated the sorcerer, as the crowd pushed the biologist 
 and his thoughtful friends up to the steps from 
 which the talk on world- pictures was to have been 
 held. "I am only a poor artist who could never 
 make a living with brushes and paints, on account 
 of my bad habit of indulging in metaphysical 
 dreams about the nature of pictures when I should
 
 200 WORLD-PICTURES 
 
 have been grinding out charcoal studies. While 
 philosophers and psychologists have been busily 
 delving into the mysteries of neurons and percep- 
 tions, I have contented myself with an innocently 
 unphilosophical study. But, would you believe it ? 
 after having Ustened to many wise debates about 
 the nature of knowledge, I became convinced that, 
 in order to speculate about the relation of mind to 
 the real world of which it is a part, one must know 
 more about pictures than about the cortex. For 
 in order to discuss rationally whether experience 
 is pictorial or representative in any manner, we 
 must first make perfectly clear in our minds what 
 we understand by a picture. Or, as a mathema- 
 tician might put it, we must make certain postu- 
 lates about pictures ; these postulates being derived 
 in conference from our habitual, rough use of the 
 word * picture ' ; and then we must see whether ex- 
 perience, when critically viewed, can sustain these 
 postulates. But which of the philosophers has 
 ever done this.^" 
 
 "We have been hearing about world- pictures 
 and all other kinds of illustrated editions of the 
 cosmos ever since the days of Plato," broke in an 
 eminent physicist among the reformers. "So, if 
 you can tell us anything new about these things, 
 I shall go to church in the art galleries. Though 
 I have never bothered to consult the dictionary 
 about the word, I am sure a picture is simply 
 * anything which, when perceived, suggests to the
 
 WALTER BOUGHTON PITKIN 201 
 
 spectator some other object by virtue of its own 
 resemblance to the latter.' ** 
 
 "An excellent beginning," said the sorcerer. 
 "You distinguish it from a symbol by the fact 
 that the picture itself looks like the portrayed 
 thing, while the symbol need not. But let us look 
 farther.'* And the crowd drew closer to the 
 speakers. 
 
 " How complete must the resemblance be in order 
 that we may fairly call a thing a picture?" 
 
 "Why, any perceived resemblance is enough to 
 make the object resembling another a picture of 
 the latter. The rude Hues of a newspaper carica- 
 ture constitute a true picture. And yet, the line 
 between symbol and picture is not a sharp one ; a 
 representation of a very inquisitive person which 
 showed the subject in the form of an interrogation 
 mark on legs would be a picture only in so far as 
 the clothing, facial expression, or some other one 
 feature were actually portrayed." 
 
 "Of course, you know that a fixed portraiture 
 in colors or stone can give only one aspect of its 
 subject." 
 
 "No artist can show in a single landscape 
 how a country-side looks from twenty different 
 hilltops." 
 
 "As there are indefinitely many aspects of physi- 
 cal objects, it follows that there are as many sepa- 
 rate pictures possible, does it not?" 
 
 "And even more. In painting, at least, the view
 
 202 WORLD-PICTURES 
 
 from each angle and distance varies widely accord- 
 ing to the color and intensity of the illumination 
 and the clearness of the atmosphere." 
 
 "When Thackeray drew a picture of a huge 
 cloud of powder smoke and labelled it *The Battle 
 of Trafalgar,' was this drawing called a picture of 
 the battle only by way of witticism?" 
 
 "From the philosopher's standpoint," laughed 
 the physicist, "a cloud of smoke was doubtless a 
 real aspect of the famous sea fight. So, too, might 
 a sohd blackish smear on a canvas be a * life-like' 
 picture of a colored gentleman in an unlighted 
 cellar on a rainy night. All this, my dear sir, is 
 true but not philosophy." 
 
 "Perhaps not; but bear with me a moment. It 
 often happens, I believe, that a single splash of 
 color can, under certain conditions, be a perfect 
 picture of a man's face, or of a house, or of a tree, 
 or of almost anything visible." 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "You have observed," the sorcerer went on, 
 " that the conditions under which you see a picture 
 best are not those under which the portrayed thing 
 itself can be best seen. An artist may look at a 
 seashore on a gray, misty day from a vantage point 
 a thousand feet from the strand ; but the spectator 
 of his picture will not stand a thousand feet away 
 from the canvas nor put the picture in a gloomy 
 corner in order to get the intended effect." 
 
 "Surely not!"
 
 WALTER BOUGHTON PITKIN 203 
 
 "It is hardly necessary to remark that the ma- 
 terials entering into the composition of a picture 
 need not be the same as those of the portrayed 
 object." 
 
 Merriment stirred the assemblage. "As if a 
 portrait of Washington had to be made of human 
 skin, eyes, hair, and clothes ! " was the cry. "Why, 
 the masters of music even picture emotions with 
 nothing save melodies and chords." 
 
 "Do you not see," said the sorcerer, "why I 
 believe in world- pictures ? The resemblance be- 
 tween the empirical phase of an object at a given 
 moment and the total nature of that object need be 
 no more than the peculiarly limited resemblance 
 we find between a portrait and the person depicted. 
 What the *mind stuff' is, out of which empirical 
 phases of things are made, I 'm sure I cannot say ; 
 and for our present purposes, this problem need 
 not be solved. It is enough to know that, as a 
 matter of every- day fact, these empirical phases do 
 suggest, stand for, and imply other things than 
 their own bare selves. And, even if we were to 
 admit that these suggested things are in turn noth- 
 ing but revivals of previous experiences, we should 
 still properly call the former true pictures. Again, 
 though we might concede, as some psychologists 
 do, that there is no evidence to prove that one 
 experienced character revives an old one by virtue 
 of their qualitative resemblances, we should still 
 have a right to say that the former is a picture of
 
 204 WORLD-PICTURES 
 
 the latter because of such resemblances as may be 
 experienced after revival. 
 
 "But there is a real world which is known only 
 at intervals and partially, as every dictate of prac- 
 tical thought compels me to believe; and experi- 
 ence asserts itself to be some sort of a picture of 
 that world, though in what precise sense men are 
 not agreed." 
 
 A psychologist who had been listening to this dia- 
 logue with growing vexation burst out at this point : 
 
 "You are playing with us, O sorcerer. You talk 
 of art works and would have us spring on the 
 nimble wings of analogy to mental pictures. But 
 if you seriously mean to defend the theory that 
 your experiences are pictures of things outside of 
 experience, I beg you to show me how you can 
 possibly be aware of this startling fact. In order 
 to know that a thing is a picture of something else, 
 you must be able to put the two side by side for a 
 comparison. How can you compare an experience, 
 though, with something beyond all experience? 
 How, with only a conjectural picture of an unseen, 
 unknown object, can you pronounce the likeness 
 good or bad?'* 
 
 " This is the crucial question. The comparison 
 of appearance with reality cannot be made directly, 
 of course. But it is forced upon us all by our 
 inevitable conception of the relation between cause 
 and effect. Is it not agreed that the effect of a 
 given cause is both like and unlike the latter ? Like
 
 WALTER BOUGHTON PITKIN 205 
 
 the existence of the causal relation itself, this is 
 unprovable in strict logic; so you may call it a 
 
 * category ' or a ' postulate,' as you please. But 
 the fact remains that it satisfies the essential de- 
 mands of a picture theory; for, in so far as we 
 have to think of every effect as being like its cause 
 in some aspects, we have to concede, I believe, that 
 every effect bears the same relation to its cause in 
 reflective experience as a painting does to its theme 
 in perception. For all our experiences are both 
 causes and effects ; thus it comes about that so far 
 as they are the latter, they are ' expressions * or 
 
 * manifestations * of a wider reality. Incidentally, 
 too, I might say that, in so far as they are causes, 
 the real world is an * expression ' of human nature. 
 It is not fair to protest against such world- pictures 
 on the ground that the resemblance between cause 
 and effect may be a mere mental necessity, a bare 
 postulate, or something even more human. For, 
 as in any ordinary work of art, it is just this mental 
 necessity of experiencing one thing to resemble 
 another that establishes the pictorial relation." 
 
 Said an eminent physicist who had thus far held 
 his peace: "These abstruse words don't convince 
 me that experiences are not mere symbols ; never- 
 theless, I am charitably inclined towards your pic- 
 ture theory ; for I believe that it could not bind a 
 spell so easily upon all these thousands of business 
 men and common people by empty tricks and 
 wand-waving alone. Furthermore, I have observed
 
 206 WORLD-PICTURES 
 
 a peculiarity of organic matter which leads me 
 to suspect that world- pictures are not utterly 
 absurd. Let those who scout pictures on logical 
 grounds alone consider that living forms have the 
 power of impressing upon ordinary matter their 
 own structures and functions. The segmentation 
 of the lowest bacteria illustrates this as well as 
 does the growth of the highest vertebrate. Is this 
 not evidence enough to make us cautious about 
 denying that matter can reproduce its own form 
 and function in a different manner, namely in the 
 world of experience ? Merely because we cannot 
 describe how this happens is no reason for doubting 
 the event, any more than our great ignorance of 
 the details of organic self- propagation should be an 
 argument against the reality of birth and inheri- 
 tance. Reason with me, therefore, as with one 
 whom you may perhaps convert." 
 
 The thoughtful men smiled among themselves 
 at these words ; for they well knew the potent ar- 
 guments the physicist held in readiness for the 
 sorcerer's attack. 
 
 "As I understand you," the teacher said, "you 
 say these signs do not portray the nature of the 
 great environing world, but simply serve to tell us 
 how to* act in reference to it." 
 
 " That 's it. I do not deny, as some of my friends 
 do, the existence of an external world. I see that 
 it is illogical to infer from the fact that everything 
 about which we can talk and think is ipso facto an
 
 WALTER BOUGHTON PITKIN 207 
 
 experience, the conclusion that these things are 
 nothing but experiences. The dog I see over yon- 
 der may, so far as logic goes, be at one and the 
 same time a percept and something more, say a 
 living animal. So you see, I stand half way be- 
 twixt my friends who say the whole world is noth- 
 ing but a complex of experiences and yourself 
 with your theory of world- pictures. I differ from 
 you in that I cannot see how anybody can know 
 our experiences to be replicas of something outside 
 of us. I think we have been led into the error of 
 calling them such by virtue of their efficacy in prac- 
 tical life. My idea of that dog, for instance, I call 
 true because its claims can be substantiated by 
 later experiences. I do not ever compar'e my per- 
 cept with a transcendent canine and find it to look 
 like the latter ; the seen, heard, felt, and smelt ani- 
 mal simply behaves consistently with the action and 
 character demanded of him by my thought of him.'* 
 
 "Suppose we try your theory on the dog," the 
 sorcerer said. " Tell me once more what you now 
 experience the dog as.'* 
 
 "A St. Bernard, perhaps three years old, a jovial 
 beast apparently, and with an exceptionally long, 
 curly coat of brown and yellowish white. I might 
 add more, but this will do." 
 
 "And how do you prove all this?" 
 
 " I ask his owner about his age, or even examine 
 the animal's teeth and claws. I feel of his hair to 
 test its length and texture ; and I compare its color
 
 208 WORLD-PICTURES 
 
 with some standard shade. You see, I merely com- 
 pare later experiences with an earlier one that is 
 undergoing a test in their crucible." 
 
 "And do you believe that, while you were per- 
 ceiving and testing the St. Bernard, the real object 
 causing or contributing to cause your perceptions 
 of the dog was substantially the same throughout 
 the whole test? Or might a wholly new object 
 have shot into your field of vision and touch and 
 hearing every millionth of a second without varying 
 either your perception or what you were referring 
 to in your thoughts?" 
 
 "Of course, I can never prove this does not 
 happen, for all my proofs are based, in the last 
 analysis, upon differences in objects which can be 
 perceived by some device. But the general lawful 
 character of the world and especially my ability 
 to manage it successfully with the aid of my ideas 
 about it proves, for all practical purposes, the non- 
 existence of the cosmic jest you have described. 
 The same dog that I first saw is the object of all 
 my later thoughts, and also the objective source of 
 the perceptions I use in testing my original opinion 
 of the beast." 
 
 "Excellent! I see you are willing to accept a 
 common-sense assumption. Now tell me whether 
 the objective dog proved by his actions, i. e., by 
 the kind of perceptions he led you irresistibly to 
 in your test, — that he is really what you thought 
 him to be at first?"
 
 WALTER BOUGHTON PITKIN 209 
 
 "Certainly the objective animal is the kind that 
 produces in me experiences of a certain kind,'* the 
 physicist admitted. " But, bless you ! this is a 
 very different story from the one you have been 
 singing about world- pictures ! Don't you see the 
 vast dissimilarity between knowing that a percept 
 is really of an external object that produces certain 
 other percepts, and knowing that a percept is a 
 copy of an external thing ? I am saying merely 
 that my first perception of the St. Bernard was 
 true because, when accepted at face value and 
 acted upon, it led up to other perceptions which 
 it originally implied. Each perception is a symbol 
 or mental sign of a reality ; I cannot see therefore 
 how a system of connected symbols can, simply 
 by virtue of their power to hang together and cor- 
 roborate one another, become replicas of the object 
 to which they refer. You might as well say that a 
 bookkeeper's balance sheet, whenever it * comes 
 out right,' is therewith transformed into a dupHcate 
 of the events and merchandise to which its figures 
 refer !" 
 
 "Your ignorance of pictures has led you into 
 two bad arguments. Although you have admitted 
 that the objective entity we call a St. Bernard dog 
 produces your perceptions (in part, at least), you 
 refuse to call these perceptions pictures, even when 
 they express the behavior of the external real. The 
 real dog, you say confidently, is the object from 
 which certain colors, forms, motions and other 
 
 14
 
 210 WORLD-PICTURES 
 
 qualities come into your mind; furthermore, he 
 gives you somehow a knowledge of the way he acts 
 in response to various stimuli, for you can make him 
 do certain things, by whistling to him, commanding 
 him to * charge,' beating him, and so on. And yet 
 all this knowledge, exact enough to guide even your 
 future conduct, is not an expression of a real aspect 
 of the external animal. Strange forgetfulness ! 
 You do not admit the possibility of there being a 
 class of world- pictures like that well-known vari- 
 ety of human pictures which we call dramatic 
 expression." 
 
 " O wild dreamer ! Do you want us to believe 
 that the universe is both playwright and come- 
 dian.'*'* a metaphysician bawled. 
 
 "Not at all. I should be glad, though, if you 
 would agree with me that the performances of 
 comedians are only peculiar developments of a 
 common property of all experienced things. And 
 this is no mysticism nor cheap anthropomorphism. 
 Dramatic expression is simply expression of actions. 
 I would ask you to believe nothing more than that 
 the image of a thing's behavior in one or more situa- 
 tions is a genuine 'picture of the thing. Always an 
 aspect though, you should remember. As the 
 tragedian expresses the true nature of his char- 
 acter by his behavior, his gestures, and his mien, 
 so do these thrills in our organisms we call colors, 
 sounds, and so on, express the natures of their 
 objective determinants. Does not everybody as-
 
 WALTER BOUGHTON PITKIN 211 
 
 sume this in practical life ? The engineer finds the 
 nature of his steel girders 'expressed' in their re- 
 sistance to stresses, strains, acids, heat, cold and 
 so on. Things are truly what they do, in popular 
 and scientific opinion. But does this not mean that 
 they are reflected, in some manner, in their effects ? 
 And does this not make invalid your analogy be- 
 tween percepts and a bookkeeper's accounts ? 
 Mental signs are the effects of the very things to 
 which they can be made to refer, whereas arithmet- 
 ical characters and devices of entry in bookkeeping 
 are inventions of a person who is only in the slight- 
 est degree conceivable, an effect of the merchandise 
 whose movements he records with his symbols." 
 
 "Another point," the sorcerer continued. ''Hav- 
 ing overlooked the peculiar virtues of 'moving 
 pictures,' you add confusion to your error by talk- 
 ing about » pictures as 'replicas' or 'duplicates.' 
 And by showing the absurdity of ' mental reduplica- 
 tion,' you fancy you have shattered the ordinary 
 man's faith in world-pictures. You convince me 
 more firmly than ever that philosophers should 
 give more attention to pictures. It was not I 
 nor my fellow- believers who started this rumor 
 about mental pictures being replicas of external 
 things. We mean by pictures just what every 
 ordinary man and every artist does ; something 
 that presents an aspect of another; or, to avoid 
 philosophical disputes, a presented aspect of a thing. 
 I have never seen a picture in any gallery that pre-
 
 212 WORLD-PICTURES 
 
 tended to be a replica of the thing it portrayed. 
 One picture may be a repHca of another ; but this 
 means that it presents the same aspect of the por- 
 trayed thing as the other picture does. Some 
 wicked sophist has confused most inartistically du- 
 phcates, models, and pictures. And he has thereby 
 done violence to the English language and, still 
 more disastrously, perturbed the ponderings of 
 philosophers far and near. A duplicate, as any 
 dictionary will tell you, is an exact counterpart of its 
 original ; we may speak of an inaccurate copy, but 
 never of an inaccurate duplicate. In daily speech, 
 we might call one coin the duplicate of another of 
 the same minting; but when talking philosophy, 
 we must deny that any two material objects can 
 possibly be true duplicates. There are always 
 some differences, if not in molecular structure then 
 surely in the stresses and strains due to different 
 spatial position with relation to other objects. 
 Taking this strict interpretation, who could be so 
 foolish as to suppose that the things in mind are 
 duplicates of any external originals ? Remember, 
 furthermore, that a duplicate is not a copy merely 
 in appearancey but also ' in substance and in effect,* 
 as the dictionary says. Thus, a document looking 
 precisely like the Declaration of Independence is 
 a copy or facsimile of that document ; but it is not 
 a duplicate, because it is not a statement of rights 
 and intentions of a body of men identical with the 
 signers of the Declaration of Independence; it
 
 WALTER BOUGHTON PITKIN 213 
 
 does not disturb the equanimity of our English 
 cousins, it has not the history nor the sentimental 
 value of the immortal brief. Look to the law, my 
 friends, for light. You will find this distinction 
 between copy and duplicate is sharp and worth 
 preserving in our discussions. Speak of mental 
 pictures as duplicates, and the absurdity of the name 
 appears at once in nearly every case. My thought 
 of a cow is not identical with the cow thought 
 of *in substance and effect.' 
 
 "Nor," continued the sorcerer, "can we speak 
 of world models. For a model means an object, 
 usually in miniature, representing accurately the 
 structure, rather than the outward appearance, of 
 its original. A model can, to be sure, look like 
 its original in many respects ; but this is not always 
 necessary ; neither need a model function precisely 
 like its original ; the formal arrangement and con- 
 nection of parts is the essential feature. I speak 
 now, you understand, of models in the sense used 
 by engineers and draughtsmen. You will surely 
 agree with me that our experiences are not mechan- 
 ical models at all ; for the blue I see in the sky is 
 not a pattern of the molecular arrangement of the 
 air and the nerves involved in giving me that blue 
 sensation. If it is impossible to call our experi- 
 ences models of external things, there is a little 
 danger in describing them as plans; I hesitate to 
 use this term generally. It is confusing. A plan, 
 being something which shows the parts of an object
 
 214 WORLD-PICTURES 
 
 in their proportions and relations, does not give 
 the appearance of the planned object, but only 
 a certain indirect indication of its structure, as 
 the latter is known to be through a large series of 
 measurements, taken at various times in different 
 ways. A plan, we might say safely, gives the ap- 
 pearance of an object only to a person who knows 
 the rules of the draughtsman and the general char- 
 acter of the thing he patterns. In experience. Na- 
 ture is somehow her own draughtsman; but she 
 does not follow a cut- and- dried rule of draughting, 
 as the architects and engineers do in their work. 
 The latter occasionally make perspective plans as 
 well as projective ones ; but they never go far be- 
 yond these two types ; experiences, however, re- 
 veal not only the geometrical relations and structure 
 of external objects but their motions, effects, inter- 
 actions, and a thousand and one other peculiarities. 
 For this reason, the word *plan' strikes me as 
 much too narrow; aside from this, too, there is 
 the well-known ambiguity of the word, which 
 sometimes misleads thinkers into the fancy that 
 experience reveals a *plan ' — i. e., a design or pur- 
 pose — of the universe. Whether there is such 
 a design or not, I do not know; but I am sure 
 that no mere analysis of the nature of experience 
 will reveal one." 
 
 "But!" exclaimed a philosopher in the rear of 
 the crowd, "you surely recognize at least personal 
 designs in all ideas and theories ? "
 
 WALTER BOUGHTON PITKIN 215 
 
 "Of course our wishes decide what goes into 
 some of our world-pictures. And we plan later 
 pictures so as to harmonize as well as possible with 
 earlier ones. But this proves nothing about cosmic 
 aspirations." 
 
 "Perhaps not," a logician interrupted. "But 
 it does demonstrate the nonsense of world-pictures. 
 The scientists' plan of molecular structures is no 
 more a true picture of matter than a hungry man's 
 craving for meat is a photograph of a sirloin. Out 
 of your own mouth you have made your pictures 
 simply convenient plans of action, tools of thought 
 which serve only to help you get along in life. Fre- 
 quently you change your mind, get weary of old 
 theories, and make new ones; sometimes because 
 new discoveries force your hand, again for sheer love 
 of mental gymnastics. Are these creations, in which 
 personal impulses are mixed thickly, representa- 
 tions of anything save your own sweet will .?" 
 
 " Surely ! You speak as though my purposes 
 were somehow painted in my world- pictures. As 
 though the purpose of an artist who painted a moun- 
 tain from the southeast at a distance of one mile 
 from its base during early April mornings neces- 
 sarily made all resemblance between canvas and 
 mountain impossible ! Do you not see that, out of 
 thousands and even millions of aspects of a given 
 object, the man with a purpose simply selects those 
 that suit him ? And, unless he is deliberately trying 
 to play with the object, as a poet playing with horses
 
 216 WORLD-PICTURES 
 
 and men in fancy evolves a centaur, he does not 
 wantonly add to the scene any marring evidence 
 of his purpose. But let us suppose his selection 
 of aspects is very unusual ; does his curious purpose 
 prevent men from grasping his picture as a genuine 
 representation ? 
 
 "Consider your own attitude toward any ordi- 
 nary picture ; when you stand before a landscape 
 by Corot, do you fail to base your appreciation 
 of the curious lights and the charming vagueness 
 of even the grosser details upon your real or as- 
 sumed knowledge of the artist's purpose? Do 
 you say : * This is no picture at all, because Corot 
 has omitted thousands of minor lights and shad- 
 ows and has heightened, out of his imagination, 
 certain dominant tones in the scene, which a spec- 
 tral analysis of the lights he actually saw in the por- 
 trayed landscape would never reveal ? ' No, you 
 judge his work from his own standpoint, as nearly 
 as you can. You put yourself in the place of a 
 man whose purpose is to bring out certain airy, 
 romantic aspects of ordinary sunlight which men 
 usually feel but cannot abstract from other pecul- 
 iarities, such as sheer brilliancy and color ; the place 
 of a man who is trying to show masses of light 
 rather than the details of things that are in the light. 
 And you say, if you have any appreciation for this 
 standpoint, that the picture is a wonderfully * true * 
 reproduction of the real landscape. 
 
 "So too with the physicist's picture of molecules.
 
 WALTER BOUGHTON PITKIN 217 
 
 It is a plan of action, to be sure ; but only because 
 it is supposed to portray the nature of the matter 
 the scientist deals with from the particular stand- 
 point he wishes to take. Wishing to describe the 
 behavior of material objects in mathematical 
 terms, he looks at his data so as to bring the de- 
 sired aspects into the foreground. But look how 
 some turn this fact. They say that, because the 
 scientist thinks out molecules from the point of 
 view of their use in interpreting certain phenomena, 
 therefore these entities and their determinations, 
 however definitely conceived, should not be held 
 for literally real. It is as if they existed; but in 
 reality they are only artificial short-cuts for taking 
 us from one part to another of experience's flux. 
 They are only 'extraordinarily successful hypoth- 
 eses.' If these men had only studied the rudiments 
 of art, how easily they might have avoided this fal- 
 lacy ! They have failed wholly to see that, bound 
 up inextricably with the very function and nature 
 of a picture, is the selection of a standpoint; and 
 with a standpoint goes an angle and an 'atmos- 
 phere ' and, at least in the case of humanly devised 
 pictures, among which it is fair to reckon our idea 
 of molecules, the 'medium of expression' — the 
 paints, brushes, and canvas, or again the words, 
 signs, and formulas. They do not see the useless- 
 ness of refuting the picture theory of knowledge 
 by trying to load impossible and unheard-of 
 responsibilities on our poor pictures."
 
 218 WORLD-PICTURES 
 
 "Is matter really composed of molecules and 
 atoms or not? " an untutored mind inquired 
 timidly of the sorcerer. 
 
 "It is really molecular and atomic, just as the 
 sky you see overhead is really blue. For what do 
 you mean in each case ? When you say the sky is 
 blue do you signify that a man in a balloon ten 
 miles up in the air might find tiny particles of mat- 
 ter which, under a sufiiciently strong microscope, 
 would appear blue precisely as the sky does as a 
 whole to you from your present vantage point .'^'^ 
 
 "No. I mean that the sky is really of such a 
 nature that its appearance from certain positions 
 and under certain conditions of light is blue.'* 
 
 " In short, the real nature of the sky is not some- 
 thing we can talk intelligently about *in general,* 
 but must always be considered and judged from a 
 specific standpoint and under specific conditions ?** 
 
 "I should say so. I cannot imagine what a shy 
 in general would be.'* 
 
 "Why!" exclaimed another untutored mind, 
 with much disappointment, "then molecules are 
 only appearances, after all ! Matter simply looks 
 like a molecular order from the physicist's stand- 
 point at present. A nearer view under better 
 conditions of observation may prove this hypoth- 
 esis false. And then everybody will agree that 
 all chemistry has rested upon a mere appearance 
 for generations ! Verily, we are such stuff as 
 dreams are made of!'*
 
 WALTER BOUGHTON PITKIN 219 
 
 "Cheer up!" cried the sorcerer merrily. "You 
 are eating bread and pretending it is a stone. You 
 are letting the metaphysicians confuse you with 
 their vicious identification of 'mere appearances' 
 and real aspects. Of course, the material world 
 presents itself from certain angles and under cer- 
 tain conditions as being composed of molecules, 
 atoms, corpuscles, and may be something even 
 finer. Of course, men's notions about these con- 
 stituent parts are constantly changing with the 
 growth of knowledge. But so is the view of a moun- 
 tain as you slowly approach the earth monster from 
 a distance. If you say in ordinary common-sense 
 life that each view of the mountain gave you a real 
 aspect of it, not a mere conjecture or illusion about 
 it, why not be equally unsophisticated when talking 
 about views gained reflectively ? By what right do 
 you refuse to call a picture taken at a distance with 
 a poor lens less truly a picture than one taken at 
 short range with a finer camera.'^" 
 
 A biologist spoke for the untutored mind. "I 
 refuse to call an error a representation of the 
 thing it erroneously refers to. The blue sensed by 
 the ordinary man when he looks up at the sky is 
 construed by him as a picture of the upper atmos- 
 phere and nothing else. Yet we know the color 
 is really a curious mental expression of a vastly 
 complex interaction of air, ether, and nerves. As 
 well call a picture of me one of you because you 
 happened to be a party in its making!"
 
 220 WORLD-PICTURES 
 
 "Would you say," the sorcerer retorted impa- 
 tiently, "that a canvas whose figures, coloring, and 
 general purport you could not interpret at first 
 glance was not truly a picture of anything ? Or 
 would you pronounce a photograph of some scene 
 a pure illusion if you had mistaken it for a repre- 
 sentation of some other scene ? It seems to me 
 that no specific error, however gross, supplies us 
 with the slightest evidence against the picture 
 theory; indeed, I am not sure but that the very 
 attempt to base an epistemological doctrine of 
 either subjectivism or symbolism upon the char- 
 acter of perceptual error must subtly assume some 
 pictorial function in experience. For one percep- 
 tion or thought can claim superiority over another 
 only by proving through practical tests that its 
 own specific nature more adequately expresses the 
 nature of the situation of which it claims to be an 
 aspect." 
 
 "But how about cases of complete error?" 
 asked a psychologist impatiently. "Do you say 
 that the seen blue is whatever it comes to mean ? " 
 
 " I think I am forced to this ; but do not miscon- 
 strue the facts !" 
 
 " Good ! Then a neurotic cloth merchant might 
 interpret the blue as a huge silken canvas stretched 
 over his diseased universe. A color-blind barba- 
 rian, unable to distinguish it from yellow, might 
 call it a cloud of gold dust in the heavens. A 
 child might think it a sea of water. And so on
 
 WALTER BOUGHTON PITKIN 221 
 
 through a thousand vagaries. Now, do you really 
 mean to say that this one identical blue is at one 
 and the same time a true aspect of a cosmic sheet 
 of silk, an aureal mist, a suspended ocean, and 
 all the other fancied objects to which it is at- 
 tached by raw or sickly minds?" 
 
 *' Exactly ! Under the special conditions of each 
 case, the simple color whose character may be 
 proved by proper experiment to be given by the 
 illumined atmosphere acts so as to mean or look 
 like some curious thing. But the factors deter- 
 mining the interpretation or * acquired meaning' 
 of blue from moment to moment are obviously not 
 identical with the factors bringing into existence 
 the simple blue itself, any more than the causes of 
 a photograph are identical with the causes of a 
 man's thoughts about the latter. So, you see, I 
 am quite prepared to admit that things are pic- 
 tured which exist as pictured only under unusual 
 cerebral conditions." 
 
 "But," said the physicist, "you have pointed 
 out such a radical difference between ordinary 
 pictures and cognitive experiences that I for one 
 object to your calhng the latter world- pictures. 
 You say the blue I sense is, in some measure, an 
 effect of the sky to which I come to refer it ; so too 
 is the act of interpreting the color one effect of 
 the color itself. You thus make the experience, 
 in all its stages of development, a phase of a real, 
 more than empirical thing or complex. It is not a
 
 222 WORLD-PICTURES 
 
 copy, it is an aspect of the thing itself. Is it not 
 doing violence to language to call a part of an ob- 
 ject a picture of the object? I am willing to con- 
 cede that experiences may not be bald symbols, 
 for you have convinced me that they are closely 
 related in nature and behavior to the whole order 
 of things to which they refer and through which 
 they guide us ; yet I cannot call them pictures. I 
 am willing to compromise, however, by calHng 
 them aspects." 
 
 To this the sorcerer replied : ** I was long in 
 doubt over this same question of terminology. It 
 is true that men ordinarily think of a picture as a 
 wholly external, independent representation. But 
 is this not merely a practical abstraction ? As a 
 scientist and philosopher, would you not admit 
 that even the most imaginative painting or trick 
 photograph is an aspect of what it portrays, just in 
 so far as the latter has influenced the artist to copy 
 it or the spectator of the picture to interpret it.?'* 
 
 "You mean,'* inquired somebody, "that, philo- 
 sophically speaking, even a word picture, say a 
 description of a battle, is truly a phase of the battle, 
 just as is the din of arms that strikes the ear of the 
 soldier at the front?" 
 
 "Precisely. Such a description may even be a 
 more significant aspect and part of the sanguinary 
 event than many less remote phases of it are. It is 
 not poetry but strict scientific fact to say that a 
 picture is an aspect determined merely by a more
 
 WALTER BOUGHTON PITKIN 223 
 
 complex set of relations than the commoner aspects 
 are. A landscape in oil before me has had to work 
 its way farther and more laboriously through vari- 
 ous media than would the original scene. All the 
 intricacies of a sensitive, selective human organ- 
 ism interpose to modify and transform the former 
 in a thousand different ways ; and then there are 
 all the influences of paints and brushes likewise 
 working to make the more ' artificial ' aspect differ- 
 ent from the simple perception of trees and mead- 
 ows separated from the eye only by a span of lighted 
 air. When I consider all this, the difference be- 
 tween pictures and aspects appears to be only a 
 relative one, adapted to many practical ends, no 
 doubt, but not suited to epistemological purposes.** 
 
 "At any rate," insisted the physicist, "you rob 
 the word 'picture* of all its natural meaning by 
 making representations really, in the broadest 
 sense, pictures of absolutely everything contribut- 
 ing to their production: Rembrandt's portrait of 
 himself is, to you, also a portrait of the brushes he 
 painted the canvas with. Is this not the rankest 
 quibbling?'* 
 
 "Such extreme cases do make my theory sound 
 absurd. And yet, remembering that the specific 
 pictorial function of anything depends directly 
 upon the character of the spectator's knowledge, 
 and hence upon the attitude the spectator can and 
 does take toward the perceived thing, I cheerfully 
 grant your interpretation. I cannot think it a mere
 
 224 WORLD-PICTURES 
 
 figure of speech to say that a mind deeply versed 
 in technique might find in the disposition of paint 
 on Rembrandt's canvas a representation of the 
 master's brushes quite as distinctly pictorial as is 
 the splash of gray which we call a cloud in a 
 painted landscape." 
 
 After a pause in which the learned men and 
 some of the sorcerer's deluded followers com- 
 mented on these words of the teacher, the physicist 
 found an opportunity to speak again. 
 
 "You have almost won me over," he confessed. 
 "But one more question which interests me as a 
 student of matter. You say our experiences may 
 be aspects or phases of real objects. You mean, 
 then, that trees and stars actually get into our 
 minds .?" 
 
 "Yes, but not as a rat crawls into a hole. I 
 hear some crying *Topsy-turvydom !' They cry 
 this only because they think I imply that an ob- 
 ject is the same wherever it is. If a thing is defined 
 as what it does, it must be located wherever it acts ; 
 but this does not mean that its nature and powers 
 are the same at every point in its whole 'sphere of 
 influence.' A dog is both at his tail and his nose, 
 yet he is different at each point. If you want to 
 worry yourselves into a madhouse trying to explain 
 how the same thing can be different, do so for all 
 me ! But I have no taste for the game. This same 
 * differentiation and specialization,' so familiar 
 to us all in organic life, appears in every object
 
 WALTER BOUGHTON PITKIN 225 
 
 as soon as we define things in the broadest, most 
 inclusive manner. The colors I see, the heat I 
 feel, the sounds I hear from moment to moment, 
 the joy that stirs me, these are all proved by 
 physiology and psychology to be manifestations 
 of real things or systems of things. Now, whether 
 or not all influences emanate from certain spatial 
 centres we need not trouble to decide just now. It 
 is enough to say that those things in space which 
 can be connected with these mental things are most 
 conveniently regarded as the ' true ' centres of influ- 
 ence. Thus, speaking exactly, we may say that 
 the sun itself gets into consciousness, provided we 
 do not identify the whole star with the mass of gas 
 at the centre of our planet's orbit. The sun ex- 
 tends far beyond its outermost fringe of quivering 
 molecules, out into the most distant and unimag- 
 ined abysses of the universe, wherever its ether 
 disturbances reach. Only a series of practical 
 abstractions has led men to narrow its bournes to 
 the central fire; the crude animism of the savage 
 who thinks of the sun as reaching down from the 
 heavens, caressing the flowers, stinging men with 
 its heat, and summoning the mists out of ponds is 
 far better philosophy than the over-refined dis- 
 sections of the metaphysician who writes thick, 
 foolish volumes trying to explain how a ball of 
 incandescent gas ninety-five million miles away 
 can become an object of knowledge at a point 
 where it is absent." 
 
 15
 
 226 WORLD-PICTURES 
 
 "Or how a mental sun can get ninety-five 
 million miles away from its parent brain!" inter- 
 jected a sorrowful youth who had taken a course 
 in psychology. 
 
 "But both the savage and the philosopher com- 
 monly make the same mistake of interpretation; 
 the philosopher does so deliberately at the outset, 
 the barbarian comes to it innocently. I refer 
 to the error that the whole nature or 'essence' of 
 the sun is present in every act of the sun; that, 
 for instance, when the sun is in somebody's mind, 
 it is there in precisely the same sense as it is in 
 the heavens. This notion makes the savage call 
 his dreams the spirits of the things dreamed of; 
 but it prevents the over- cautious metaphysician 
 from believing that the 'real' sun can possibly be 
 known. While the savage is the victim of his own 
 imagination, as a result, the metaphysician is only 
 too frequently led to call knowledge *epiphenom- 
 enal,' 'purely ideal,' or by way of compromise with 
 the overwhelming evidences of realism in daily 
 life, *a symbolic function.' I respect the savage's 
 error, but think the philosopher's unpardonable." 
 
 "Your philosophy," interjected a logician, "may 
 be sound for aught I know ; but it forces upon you 
 a weird definition of a 'thing.' Every discernible, 
 or if you will, every real, must be defined in terms 
 of and identified with its activity, or, more broadly, 
 with the part it plays in the whole scheme of things. 
 As all things known to man are found only in highly
 
 WALTER BOUGHTON PITKIN 227 
 
 complex interaction, it follows that for philosophi- 
 cal purposes each thing must be defined in terms 
 of the influence it exerts in all situations wherein 
 it is involved. Every definition founded upon any- 
 thing less is abstract, partial, and at best only 
 adapted to special practical purposes." 
 
 "Precisely,'* the sorcerer acquiesced. "As any 
 practical man would say, my definition of a thing 
 is good for nothing in particular ! But this seeming 
 reproach does not distress me, inasmuch as episte- 
 mological dictum is not supposed to serve any end 
 commonly called practical." 
 
 "Rank Relativism!" somebody muttered. The 
 sun is really green because colored glasses make 
 it appear so ! Anything is anything that any- 
 body can imagine it to be ! Reality is nothing 
 more than formless potentiality, mere vXrjy to be 
 moulded by mind." 
 
 "That last remark is utterly false!" returned 
 the sorcerer warmly. "Such a conclusion is possi- 
 ble only by assuming what I expressly refuse to, 
 namely, that things are nothing but their appear- 
 ances. The character of appearances is deter- 
 mined largely by many things not appearing. So 
 far as my little fancy about world- pictures is con- 
 cerned, the whole structure of the universe may 
 have been foreordained, or on the other hand it 
 may be still in the making. With nothing save a 
 theory of experience to guide us, I do not see how 
 this question is soluble; and for the purposes of
 
 228 WORLD-PICTURES 
 
 epistemology, it is irrelevant. But Reality surely 
 is not vXt^." 
 
 "And yet," interjected a bystander, "you say 
 we make our world-pictures. We pick up colors 
 and noises and work them up into all manners of 
 theories, whims, and plans." 
 
 "True," the sorcerer returned. "But this is only 
 one aspect of the knowledge process. There is 
 another equally important one. Reals get into 
 consciousness, and the reals getting in are world- 
 pictures, representing part of the nature of Reality. 
 The notion that two incompatible theories are here 
 thrown together arises from the fact that the knowl- 
 edge relation may be, but usually is not, considered, 
 like every other relation, from the standpoint of 
 any of the objects or factors involved in the rela- 
 tion. Remember that all factors contribute in 
 some manner to determine the result. Looking 
 at knowledge from the standpoint of the things that 
 succeed in forcing themselves into knowledge, I 
 should say without fear that the objects have *made 
 themselves known,* — that is, have developed em- 
 pirical parts or phases. Looking at the same pro- 
 cedure, though, from the standpoint of all the 
 other factors involved in producing and interpreting 
 the simple experiences which come to be known 
 as aspects of reals, I think it fair to say that 
 * predispositions,* * purposes,' and 'associations* in- 
 terpret the instreaming characters, making them 
 mean aspects of particular reals. But if this is
 
 WALTER BOUGHTON PITKIN 229 
 
 a mystery to you, I beg you to think it over at 
 leisure. For fast debate solves no puzzles but only 
 arouses thought.'* 
 
 "You have uttered many true words," said the 
 physicist in behalf of the learned men, " but we 
 still suspect that you have dazzled us with subtle 
 analogies. Our logicians, though, refuse to let us 
 continue the argument by attacking your use of 
 poetic comparisons, for they are of the opinion that 
 perhaps all reasoning is based upon just this sort 
 of analogy with which you have been interesting 
 us. Rest assured, though, that in due season we 
 shall return to this debate. Then, perhaps, the 
 outcome will be decisive." 
 
 This happened long ago. The learned men 
 have not yet come back to the market-place 
 where the throngs of untutored minds still talk 
 in the tongue of the sorcerers. And nobody knows 
 why the conversation has never been resumed. 
 For all those who heard the debate said that many 
 things remained to be spoken on both sides. But 
 perhaps the disputants have found too many more 
 important things to do.
 
 NAIVE REALISM: WHAT IS IT?
 
 NAIVE REALISM; WHAT IS IT? 
 
 By Dickinson S. Milleb 
 
 I 
 
 \JF the most recent tendencies to be observed 
 here and there in metaphysical speculation there 
 is one at least clearly healthy and hopeful, the 
 impulse to return to "naive realism." A feeling 
 has arisen amongst certain philosophers akin to 
 what the cultivated world without has long felt 
 about the whole industry of their class, an im- 
 patience of the extravagance of theory that marks 
 the most irresponsible of the sciences, and has 
 marked it not least in the last century; a sense 
 that though ingenuity and speculative enterprise 
 and architectural instinct and the taste for sweep- 
 ing views are at their strongest there, not so much 
 can be said for sanity of judgment or intellectual 
 poise. We have been told, for instance, that Real- 
 ity is Obligation, the obligation to think our world 
 in a certain manner; or that all we can know of 
 it is that it is not like Appearance, the world our 
 thoughts inhabit; or that it is all energy, or all 
 will, or all idea; just as in objective times it was 
 all fire, or all water, or all air. One category- 
 ass
 
 234 NAIVE REALISM 
 
 after another is cast up before the attention of the 
 time, and the different intellectual appetites seize 
 upon their own. This is so in its measure in every 
 science, but philosophy has the longest circuit to 
 make before it must face the facts that will take 
 no denial ; and thus there is room for the army of 
 Privatdocenten and their elders, who write books of 
 which the first part consists in a refutation of all 
 previous theories and the second in setting forth the 
 next theory that the subject will bear. Philosophy 
 is gone so far round the circuit that for some per- 
 haps to embrace naive realism is only one more tour 
 de force; but for others it is to renounce the splen- 
 did follies of speculative imagination, and return to 
 intellectual seriousness. 
 
 But the way back to naive realism is not so plain 
 as one might think. Naive realism being the view 
 natural to all of us in all but our philosophic 
 moments, our philosophy should find it close at 
 hand. Yet between these two spots on our own 
 premises the way is apt to be lost. That is to say, 
 to give an accurate analysis in the terms of philos- 
 ophy, a true theoretic rendering, of the deliverance 
 of our consciousness about the external world is 
 so far from easy that the chief schools of philosophy 
 differ in it, so far as they attempt it at all. It must 
 not be forgotten that Berkeley declared himself 
 at one with the plain man and at issue only with 
 the philosopher "debauched with learning." 
 Thereupon Reid and his successors, treating
 
 DICKINSON S. IVOLLER 235 
 
 Berkeley's doctrine as preposterous, and taking 
 little note of this particular claim of his, under- 
 took to vindicate against him the natural reaUsm 
 of the human mind. Hume, in essential sympathy 
 with Berkeley's method of thinking, disallowed 
 his claim in regard to the plain man, and gave a 
 new account of the plain man's notion, which 
 notion he admitted however to be unphilosophical. 
 German idealists have in general been content to 
 leave the plain man behind; yet if challenged 
 they too would mostly have said that they had no 
 quarrel with his notion. In English philosophy 
 again, it is perhaps not always remembered that 
 Mill's resolution of matter into "permanent possi- 
 bilities of sensation" was intended as psychology 
 as well as philosophy; not only as an account of 
 the facts, but as an analysis of our instinctive 
 view of them. Clifford, on one side at least of 
 his theory, has the same intention. Most of these 
 philosophers, then, have not felt that they were 
 estranged from naive realism at all. It has been 
 left to their opponents to feel it. 
 
 Now it is at least possible that to fix our minds 
 on the question in what character matter naturally 
 appears to us may forward us in solving the prob- 
 lem of what matter is. In partial measure the 
 former question is considered: metaphysicians 
 study the perception of matter. But they do not 
 with an equal scrutiny study its apperception. 
 Of course we cannot do the latter without the
 
 236 NAIVE REALISM 
 
 former; so that in the following we shall be 
 partly on thickly trodden ground and partly on 
 neighboring ground that is less frequented. Be 
 it remembered that whatever profit may accrue 
 to our metaphysics, the immediate aim here is 
 psychological, the analysis of an instinctive 
 conception. 
 
 Consider first the account given by long-estab- 
 lished realistic systems of philosophy. They seem 
 to say that the initial blunder of the idealist is in 
 supposing that to the perceiver consciousness pre- 
 sents merely a "content," an opaque wall as it 
 were with a painted scene upon it. Our con- 
 sciousness in perception is not a mere possession 
 of ours whose import ends in itself; it is con- 
 sciousness of something; it is not a wall but a 
 window; through it we look out upon a world 
 beyond. This, they say, is the distinction of con- 
 sciousness from other things, the unique property 
 that makes it consciousness, namely, that it tells 
 more than it is. The things beyond are not pres- 
 ent in consciousness ; they are present to it. These 
 correlative prepositions "of" and "to" which are 
 so fundamental in our language about experience 
 are expressive of a unique relation. That there is 
 an object distinct from the percept, says a philoso- 
 pher, "is not an opinion about perception, it is 
 the opinion of the perception itself." The opinion 
 may be wrong; in that case perception is illusion, 
 and the naive realist is duped.
 
 DICKINSON S. MILLER 237 
 
 This runs smoothly enough in metaphor and 
 colloquial terms; and its natural ring proves that 
 it must in some sense or measure be true to ex- 
 perience. But in what sense or measure? 
 
 1. A perception, it is said, professes to reveal 
 a distinct object, i. e., it makes consciously by its 
 very nature what is called a transubjective refer- 
 ence thereto. That the perception is not the 
 object is part of the perception's deliverance; it 
 points the attention on to the object; "not unto 
 us" say the perceptions. But this is demonstrably 
 false. The demonstration is psychological. To 
 distinguish something from our perception we 
 must know the perception as such. This may 
 mean either of two things. It may mean that 
 the perception is conscious of its concrete self (if 
 these words have a meaning) and distinguishes 
 that from the object. But a glance of introspection 
 shows of course that we are not conscious of any 
 perception apart from the object. Or the theory 
 may mean that we distinguish the object from 
 perception in general or from consciousness in 
 general. To do this we must have formed an idea 
 of consciousness in general or of perception in 
 general, and a distinct idea; and that "the child, 
 the rustic, and the savage" have not done; nay, 
 the financier, the general, and the senator have 
 not done it; only the psychologist and a few 
 others have really made the attempt. The theory 
 asks that every man's mind should in every min-
 
 238 NA'lVE REALISM 
 
 ute do what philosophers in the centuries have 
 not yet definitively done: distinguish in generic 
 nature between object and perception. Besides, 
 if introspection shows that we are not conscious 
 of the concrete perception apart from the object, 
 it shows as well that we are not abstractly think- 
 ing of its nature thus apart. A conscious tran- 
 subjective reference does not then arise in sense. 
 
 2. It turns out that " a conscious transubjective 
 reference " is a phrase without meaning. To say 
 that the reference of a mental "content" to its ob- 
 ject is contained in the mental "content" is a 
 natural warping of language, but it is a confusion 
 of ideas. One existence may resemble another, but 
 (by the force of the terms) it cannot contain what 
 is truly another, and if it contains a "sign" or "in- 
 dication" of it we must remember what signs and 
 indications are. They are always facts, individual 
 in themselves, which lead the mind to another 
 fact because they are associated with it. A pic- 
 ture is a picture of a man because, it being like 
 him and I having seen him before, it carries my 
 mind straight to him. A flag stands for a coun- 
 try's name and honor because being long coupled 
 therewith it suggests them at once. But a flag is 
 a piece of bunting and a picture is canvas and 
 oils. The connection is made in my mind, which 
 carries between the two, and the words reference 
 and meaning are used for the relation thus created. 
 The like is true of words themselves and gestures,
 
 DICKINSON S. MILLER 239 
 
 with their meanings. The meanings are associa- 
 tions. Indication never lies wholly in the indi- 
 cating thing; it is a function of that thing, the 
 fact that the thing works suggestively through 
 the mechanism of the mind. This suggests a 
 difficulty to be sure if we should come to the 
 case of a man's thought of other men's minds or 
 of his own past experience. Indeed the chief 
 argument for the conscious transubjective refer- 
 ence is that we could never have knowledge or 
 thought beyond our mind if it did not exist. The 
 argument does not directly try to make this kind 
 of reference credible ; it is an argument by threat. 
 But I am not denying reference at large; only 
 self- reference, or conscious reference, a reference 
 which is not only a logical function but a psycho- 
 logical datum. And I cannot here pass beyond 
 the problems of perception. 
 
 Wherein then is this realistic account true to 
 experience ? In its saying that in perception we 
 recognize that the object is external to ourselves. 
 We do recognize this; at least we are always 
 ready in perception to recognize it at the slightest 
 need; but "external to ourselves" does not 
 mean external to our consciousness (as has often 
 been pointed out) but external to our bodies, pri- 
 marily, and, secondarily, distinct from our feelings 
 and ideas. 
 
 We can now take one step forward. In percep- 
 tion we recognize an object. We do not recog-
 
 240 NAlVE REALISM 
 
 nize a perception. After the fact two rival theories 
 arise. One tells us that the object was really to 
 be classed as a "content of perception" only. The 
 other tells us it was a fact distinct from our con- 
 sciousness. Whichever of these is the truth, we 
 did not know it at the time. Now by naive real- 
 ism we mean the attitude of the ordinary mind 
 toward the external world. We say, then, that, 
 when in the presence of the ohjecty naive realism 
 takes up with neither of these theories, but simply 
 finds an object, of particular quality and property ; 
 the objectivity itself being resoluble into features 
 of this quality and property; such as independ- 
 ence of the perceiver's will, location in space, 
 membership in a trusted order of experience, and 
 the rest. 
 
 But in retrospect (it may reasonably be asked) 
 does not the view of naive realism become differ- 
 ent? When we look back on ourselves, even in 
 irreflective memory, as having perceived a real 
 object, do we not distinguish the object from our 
 perception ? The contemplation of our past selves 
 as perceivers, however, is so much like the con- 
 templation of other men as perceivers that the 
 two are best considered together; as they will be 
 presently. 
 
 Turn now from the traditional "realistic" ac- 
 count of naive realism to Berkeley's. It is chiefly 
 when speaking of objects while they are per- 
 ceived that Berkeley claims the support of the
 
 DICKINSON S. MILLER 241 
 
 plain man. And it follows from what has just 
 been noted that at least the plain man does not 
 contradict him. Berkeley passes beyond the plain 
 man in classing the present object as "idea," 
 that is, content of consciousness, because imme- 
 diately present. The plain man does not class 
 it metaphysically at all; but the plain man does 
 regard it as immediately present. Hence in this 
 large department of the subject there is no con- 
 flict between them. I think this will be recognized 
 without need of our lingering over the old miscon- 
 ception; namely, that Berkeley somehow took 
 away from present objects their substantiality or 
 their objectivity. Even Professor Paulsen, to be 
 sure, despite his idealism, is found asserting that 
 unless objects have something apart from our 
 consciousness to support them (psychic life of 
 their own, he would say) the theory becomes 
 Illusionismus. It is one more instance of a 
 thinker performing an analysis and then shrink- 
 ing from the conclusion, slipping back into the 
 old unanalytic language before he comes to record 
 his result. Both Berkeley and the plain man 
 regard the present object as really there, really 
 placed in a portion of the space that appears; 
 both regard it as outside the body of the per- 
 ceiver ; both regard it as distinct from his feelings 
 and his ideas, in the vernacular sense of the 
 latter word. 
 
 16
 
 242 NAIVE REALISM 
 
 II 
 
 The real difficulty in reconciling the two views 
 appears when we think of unperceived objects. 
 Here also, however, Berkeley will admit no differ- 
 ence. The three distinct explanations he gives 
 in different passages of what the unperceived 
 object really consists in he attributes directly or 
 implicitly to the plain man as being his theory 
 also. In these explanations, briefly given, we 
 can see the germs of ideas that have figured con- 
 spicuously in the subsequent history of philosophy. 
 Let us look at them first as he offers them, though 
 it will be convenient to take them in a different 
 order from that in which they are found scattered 
 in his writing. 
 
 First, the absent object exists because, though 
 I do not perceive it, I think of it. It has the same 
 claim to reality as a perception, being like that 
 an "idea," a content of consciousness. Second, 
 the absent object, indeed the whole material uni- 
 verse, exists as an idea in the mind of God. Third, 
 the absent object exists in the sense that if I induce 
 the train of perceptions called going to the spot, 
 etc., I should perceive it. 
 
 The flaw in the first is that it affords no ground 
 for distinguishing, as naive realism distinguishes, 
 between false thoughts and true thoughts about 
 absent objects. The flaw in the second is that
 
 DICKINSON S. MILLER 243 
 
 we think our physical world simply, and not as 
 bound in unity of consciousness with the subjec- 
 tive background of a divine mind. The flaw in 
 the third is that, though it is quite true that we 
 derive our materials for picturing things not now 
 perceived solely from former perceptions, yet when 
 I believe they exist now there is no "if" in my 
 belief. 
 
 Yet though these suggestions so plainly fail us 
 as Berkeley put them, yet they are susceptible of 
 such development that we shall not wholly lose 
 sight of them again. In part they have acquired 
 this development in the course of subsequent 
 thought, though not always with direct debt to 
 Berkeley. Let us return to them in a developed 
 form. 
 
 The first explanation becomes nothing less than 
 one phase of the thought of Fichte, of which 
 Professor Windelband in his early volume ^' Pra- 
 ludien," and Professor Rickert in " Der Gegen- 
 stand der Erkenntniss'^ have made so acute and 
 incisive a restatement. The distinction to them 
 between true thoughts and false lies not in their 
 relation to independent outer objects which 
 thoughts are called on to resemble, but in relation 
 to an inflexible law which they are called on to 
 fulfil. This conception in Fichte was of course a 
 pursuance of Kant's description of the outlying 
 phenomenal world as a construction "according 
 to rules," the "lawful context" of present expe-
 
 244 NAIVE REALISM 
 
 rience. Professor Windelband tells us in his re- 
 markable speech on Kant that human thought 
 has yielded two radically different conceptions of 
 that in which the essence of knowledge lies, the 
 Greek conception and the German. The Greek 
 still dominates most of the world. According to 
 it, to know is faithfully to picture a fact distinct 
 from the knowing. According to the German, 
 of which it was the genius of Kant to lay the 
 foundations, to know is to feel and follow an obli- 
 gation of thought as such. In his essay on Nor- 
 men und Naturgesetze he points out that there 
 is an "ought" equally in thinking, in acting, and 
 in judging of beauty. He dismisses metaphysics 
 as "em Undingy" which frivolously concerns itself 
 with the mythical originals of our thought; and 
 leaves us logic, ethics, and aesthetics as the three 
 departments of philosophy, all mandatory or 
 normative. To which Professor Rickert naturally 
 adds that the category of obligation, as compared 
 with that of being, is seen to be prior and 
 profounder. 
 
 In this, we have got far beyond Berkeley. 
 Berkeley denied a transcendent reference as re- 
 gards present things; it never occurred to him to 
 deny it as regards other spirits, the spirit of God, 
 for instance, nor yet as regards the object or 
 "ideas" that they perceive. It is the esse of things 
 that is percipi — the things of sense. Yet we have 
 seen how the idealist tendency, begun in that lim-
 
 DICKINSON S. MILLER 245 
 
 ited field, urged occasionally further and led him 
 to drop what I have called his first remark about 
 absent objects — it may have been almost inad- 
 vertent — that the unseen fountain existed, since 
 we thought of it. 
 
 Meanwhile Fichte and his followers have no 
 trouble about unperceived objects, just (they 
 would say) as the naive realist has no trouble; 
 though they go further than he in theoretic speci- 
 fication, they go side by side with him as far as 
 he goes. Of course we believe in the outlying 
 stretches of the physical world, they would say; 
 that is the way we have to make up our world in 
 consciousness. The perceived object is sensory; 
 the unperceived object is given in the different 
 stuff of idea; but they are both given, or made, 
 and there is no perplexity about one that there is 
 not about the other. 
 
 Do not these teachers, however, in their zeal of 
 theory, prove too much for the gain they have in 
 view ? For this way of describing knowledge must 
 apply to our knowledge of other minds; to halt 
 at that point would be fatal ; the view must com- 
 pass all the world or none. And if we include 
 other minds, then the world appears with " streams 
 of consciousness" in it, isolated, each one, from 
 all others, believing each in the separate other, 
 each with the present physical object given and 
 the absent object conceived; each confronting the 
 question whether the absent object shall in thought-
 
 246 NAIVE REALISM 
 
 f ul conception be held real in the same sense as the 
 separate minds or its own past. In other words 
 we have our world over again with all its difficul- 
 ties. These thinkers would draw the universe 
 through the circlet of the knowing consciousness; 
 it is their triumph in their own eyes that they 
 draw it all safely through; but the result is that 
 they have not left even the difficulties behind. 
 Most plainly, our own problem stands just where 
 it did before. The objection is not now what it 
 was to the germ of Professor Windelband's doc- 
 trine as that germ lay in Berkeley's writing; the 
 doctrine does not now deprive us of a distinction 
 between truth and error about absent things. 
 The objection is that it is too wide a principle to 
 tell us anything about the special problem of ab- 
 sent physical objects at all. Let a thing be "real" 
 for us if we are under an obligation to think it : we 
 must still ask, are we under an obligation to think 
 of absent objects as real in the same sense in 
 which, for instance, we think of other minds as so. 
 If the answer is yes, then we are metaphysical 
 realists and not idealists at all. If the answer is 
 no, naive realism seems to go by the board. The 
 doctrine tells us something about the forum or 
 sphere of thought (I need not ask here what mean- 
 ing is left in its description) ; it tells us nothing 
 about what shall occupy it. It tells us perhaps 
 something about the canvas and the pigments, but 
 nothing about the features of the ideal scene. In
 
 DICKINSON S. MILLER 247 
 
 the ideal scene are separate minds that think about 
 each other. Representation then is an inexpug- 
 nable fact in this world, implicit in the philoso- 
 pher's thought as in his questioning reader's, and 
 at the end of all idealisms, at the bottom of the 
 most German of philosophies, Greek meets 
 Greek after all. 
 
 Next we turn to the development of Berkeley's 
 second device for accommodating absent objects, 
 that of lodging them in the mind of an Eternal 
 Spirit. This theory has been taken up since his 
 time; it has been remarked, for example, that if 
 a flower is "born to blush unseen" it is unseen 
 only by men ; it has its existence through entering 
 into the divine experience. We are interested in 
 this only as it bears on naive realism. Suppose 
 we simplify it by omitting from the mind thus sug- 
 gested the background of personal will and feeling 
 that theologies may attribute to God. There re- 
 mains a consciousness in which the whole span 
 and detail of the material universe is presented, 
 and so far nothing else. Further I shall have to 
 assume here, without reasoning, that what we call 
 consciousness is nothing but what psychologists 
 call "contents," together with the relation of 
 joint presentation, or let us say simply empirical 
 conjunction, that exists between them; the so- 
 called subject or unity of consciousness being re- 
 soluble into this ultimate relation. Conceive now 
 that this complete and duly joined "content" of a
 
 248 NAIVE REALISM 
 
 world, of quality like ours, has also property and 
 process like ours ; that from moment to moment it 
 changes, its parts move, and then rest, just as mat- 
 ter does for the naive realist. Let the naive realist 
 think of his physical world in its entirety. Let us 
 think of this other sort of world. What would 
 be the difference between the two ? Would there 
 be any ? 
 
 Hume would have said, none. I turn again to 
 familiar history, for we are trying to find the meta- 
 physical conceptions that lend themselves to an 
 instinctive way of thinking; it is not always easy 
 to see how such conceptions operate ; so we go for 
 instruction to the workshop where they were 
 slowly forged and put together. Hume wrote: 
 "All ideas are borrowed from preceding percep- 
 tions. Our ideas of objects, therefore, are derived 
 from that source. Consequently no proposition 
 can be intelligible or consistent with regard to 
 objects, which is not so with regard to percep- 
 tions. But 't is intelligible and consistent to say 
 that objects exist distinct and independent.'* 
 Which means, to Hume's thinking, that it is intelli- 
 gible and consistent to say that perceptions exist 
 in detachment from personal minds. "This," he 
 says, "is the doctrine of the vulgar, and implies 
 no contradiction." If the vulgar doctrine is right, 
 then, the immediately given object looses itself 
 from our consciousness as our body turns away, 
 but continues in existence and in its place in the
 
 DICKINSON S. MILLER 249 
 
 ordered world. It will be seen at once that this 
 justifies the naive realist as to the direct presence 
 of the given object, and as to the reality of the 
 absent object, without the disconcerting "if." 
 And there is an amendment that suggests itself 
 which would justify him still further. 
 
 For if such a colossal "content" or perception 
 would be identical with the physical world of com- 
 mon belief, what is the point in calling it "con- 
 tent" or perception or mental at all.? We have 
 apparently found ourselves able to state the com- 
 mon belief in "idealistic" terms; but at the in- 
 stant of junction between the two does not the 
 idealism cease to be such ; cease to retain any dis- 
 tinguishable meaning? Vse receive back our 
 world, in which the streams of personal impres- 
 sions are only a part, and in which the solid and 
 continuous world stretches between. Shall we not 
 then say that Berkeley did a service in showing 
 objects as immediately present, and that the steady 
 push of Hume's penetration removes all that was 
 paradox and hard saying in Berkeley's system, giv- 
 ing us common sense again, philosophized ? Since 
 the distinction between consciousness and matter 
 was the distinction between the streams of personal 
 impressions and the independent world, no heart of 
 meaning remains in calling the whole mental. 
 
 Well, this seems a broad landing-place for our 
 thought. But even this does not prove an abiding 
 place. There are reasons for moving further.
 
 250 NAIVE REALISM 
 
 When Hume said there was no self-contradiction 
 in saying that a partial content separates itself from 
 the rest of my content and continues to exist alone, 
 he was surely right. Conceive the whole material 
 worldy however, as a great content existing thus, 
 and it becomes evident that the objects now pres- 
 ent in my own field of consciousness must be du- 
 plicated in the world- content. Yet naive realism 
 does not think of presented objects as duplicates 
 of complete objects unpresented. Shall we take 
 refuge in saying that to the extent to which objects 
 are presented to me, I actually share the physical 
 world- perception ; that the whole matter- content 
 is not my content but that certain bits of it momen- 
 tarily are ? This seems a contradiction in terms. 
 It would be to say that an identical content can be 
 in two fields of consciousness at once. Try to sup- 
 pose a content X in two minds or fields one of 
 which contains also the private content A, and the 
 second of which contains also the private content 
 B. Joint presentation or empirical conjunction, 
 that which constitutes a field, is a relation between 
 contents. Now in field No. 1 X stands in a rela- 
 tion of conjunction with A, while in field No. 2 
 it does not stand in that relation, A being left out- 
 side. So the result is that the same content, at 
 the same time, does and does not stand in a certain 
 relation to another. 
 
 Ah ! but, it will be said, add the amendment 
 that suggested itself. Do not call the material
 
 DICKINSON S. MILLER 251 
 
 total a content, call it simply a material total, across 
 which the little spots of consciousness flit without 
 disturbing it. In that case the relation of con- 
 junction in a field would be a momentary relation 
 between objects, which when they passed out of that 
 field they would bear no longer, ^Yith this change 
 of words, however, the obstacle really remains as 
 before. But another obstacle of the same order 
 can perhaps be pointed out more briefly. Anyone 
 who should accept such a view must hold also that 
 the same object or part of it might be presented 
 to two human minds; otherwise there would be a 
 duplication repugnant to naive realism. Here is 
 the self-contradiction again; and I agree with 
 Hume that we cannot ascribe such a contradiction 
 to the famihar, constant thought of ages. 
 
 Thus even in their developed forms Berkeley's 
 first and second conceptions of the unperceived 
 object fail us as interpretations of naive realism. 
 In approaching the development of the third it 
 will be necessary to consider deliberately what we 
 mean by "consciousness," a term which according 
 to the tradition of English philosophy I use in the 
 same sense as "experience." 
 
 Ill 
 
 When I survey the things about me, my natural 
 associations are physical and topographical, for the 
 movement of my organs of sense has so repeatedly
 
 252 NAIVE REALISM 
 
 made that sort of connection. From the side of the 
 peach turned toward me I have looked round it to 
 see if it was sound; I have presently cut it open, 
 taken out the stone, seen the red fibrous tissue 
 that had been about it, and the flesh of the peach. 
 When I enter a room a large desk may hide much 
 of it from me, but as I come forward I open up, 
 as it were, part after part that was hidden. When 
 I look at the desk a foreshortened aspect of one 
 side appears to the eye, but I open it, sit down, pull 
 out a drawer, look into a compartment, take up a 
 memorandum-book, turn over pages, and so in a 
 hundred obvious ways draw new perceptions from 
 what I call the desk and its contents. I had en- 
 tered the room from the house and the house 
 from the neighboring places ; and all these tran- 
 sitions effected again and again have left their 
 strong impress on my tendencies of association. 
 If I should stop myself on entering the room in a 
 fit of self-cross-examination and ask myself what 
 the desk, of which but one side shows, foreshort- 
 ened, really is, my thought would pass rapidly to 
 its writing- surface, its store of writing-materials, 
 and the rest. If I try to take in a larger part of 
 things my thought will be likely to pass to the 
 whole room, the house, the neighborhood, the city, 
 state, country, globe. That is what I mean by my 
 thought's ranging topographically. There are, 
 however, other physical associations besides those 
 of neighborhood. Loosened screws may suggest a
 
 DICKINSON S. MILLER 253 
 
 screw- driver which is far away, or a carpenter who 
 is farther. (A carpenter, be it said in passing, is 
 for most of us in most of our moments a purely 
 physical tool, comparatively self-acting as com- 
 pared with the screw- driver.) Or a ball may carry 
 the mind to a game in open country, or the fields 
 to the ball, or a chemical compound to its compo- 
 nent parts, or stones to pavements. In all this we 
 are led from idea to idea or from percept to idea 
 along the paths of perceptual succession or the 
 paths of familiar thought about perceptions. This 
 is objective association. Of such is the mental 
 stream of most men, and even though they may ex- 
 perience or think of emotions and desires that color 
 their percepts and ideas, yet these, though they are 
 the motive power, are not so often the pivot of asso- 
 ciation. When they are it is for a moment, to start 
 the mind in another objective train. 
 
 Now for some human beings at some times, for 
 a very few human beings often, there is quite an- 
 other kind of association. We sometimes try to 
 attain it, though not very exactly, when we are 
 trying to remember where we put something lost. 
 We remember that we noticed the open desk five 
 minutes ago. We try thereupon to remember 
 what we did or noticed next. The contents and 
 uses of the desk may come up to the mind with 
 the importunity of custom, but we thrust them 
 down ; in psychological language we inhibit them 
 by fixing voluntary attention with effort on the
 
 254 NAIVE REALISM 
 
 idea we wish to keep: the desk just so far as we 
 noticed it, as it figured in our personal experience, 
 at that moment; for we hope it will call up what 
 figured next (another object noticed, words heard, 
 a feeling roused, a plan suggested), and so bring 
 us in time to the forgotten action. The usual aver- 
 age sequences that keep offering themselves we 
 keep excluding ; what we invite is only the sequence 
 that obtained on a particular occasion. 
 
 The introspective memory of the psychologist is 
 but an effort to make this same difficult selective 
 association exact. The difference between it and 
 the objective association is the difference between 
 thinking about consciousness and thinking about 
 matter. It is one of the two sources of the distinc- 
 tion between consciousness and matter themselves. 
 The other exists in the phenomenon of my fellow- 
 man. His body is an object for consecutive per- 
 ception like the desk; but I cannot find his 
 perceptions in it ; nor yet his feelings, willings, or 
 ideas. If I want to realize his view of the desk, I 
 must note his position toward it, and try in idea to 
 see the desk in that aspect. All that belongs other- 
 wise to the desk I must keep out; I only want 
 what he saw or thought of ; in other words I must 
 now practice toward him in imagination, without 
 the aid of spontaneous memory, the kind of selec- 
 tive association I employed to bring up my own 
 past experience. 
 
 This points us at once to the nature of con-
 
 DICKINSON S. MILLER 255 
 
 sciousness in contradistinction from the nature of 
 matter. I refer to matter as it figures in our natu- 
 ral view of the world, in the vernacular of thought. 
 Matter is a thing of many aspects, consciousness 
 has but one. Matter is permanent, the content of 
 consciousness fleeting. The difference is not one 
 of stuff, quality, or simple kind. 
 
 The power of thinking persistently of conscious- 
 ness in its single aspect, which is its whole being, 
 may be called the Psychological Imagination. It 
 is of course very rarely found and can only be es- 
 tablished by arduous practice. Clearly it must 
 think of consciousness never as an object, for ob- 
 jects have many aspects, to be explored in succes- 
 sion; but always subjectively, as it comes. The 
 being of a feeling is its being felt. Consciousness 
 is the realm in which appearance and reality coin- 
 cide. In this, of course, the single state or field of 
 consciousness is meant. To think of such a field 
 justly is to think of it just as it seems. It has no 
 hidden nature, no underside, no central substance 
 or kernel, no interior recesses to be explored. All 
 that order of appurtenance is confined to matter, 
 which reveals aspect after aspect to the advancing 
 percipient, each aspect as perceived being called, 
 when the psychological imagination seizes it, a con- 
 tent of consciousness. A consciousness may be in 
 the given case a spatial content, but not being an 
 object it is not in space. We cannot expect ever to 
 discover it, to say "Lo here," or "Lo there" of
 
 256 NA'iVE REALISM 
 
 it. It is nowhere; a reality to which location is 
 irrelevant. For itself it does not need to be dis- 
 covered; in other fields of consciousness it can at 
 best be represented. 
 
 Returning now to naive realism, shall we say, as 
 above, that for it the whole of the physical world 
 has, like consciousness, an ultimate and irresoluble 
 existence ? Impossible. Not even for the naive 
 realist. For matter is a realm of aspects and these 
 aspects, congenial enough in succession and alter- 
 nation, will not fit together to form in one total 
 a coherent world. The desk as a light- brown 
 total or unit, the desk as a complex combination 
 of drawers and compartments to the right and 
 left, the desk as a wilderness of woody fibre, the 
 desk, if you will, as a host of ordered molecules or 
 atoms, are different desks, and will in no wise go 
 together. I have spoken of the problem of present 
 objects and the problem of absent objects. But 
 every present object is partly absent; integral 
 aspects of what we should call the object are unper- 
 ceived. In perception we have one aspect, en- 
 larged with a few strokes by peering imagination 
 to represent the rest. For the foreshortened view 
 we half substitute the normal view and under all 
 is a depth of the tactual and kinsesthetic order. 
 But if we could bring in all sides and features 
 of the object we should not have a desk, but a 
 monstrous medley. If the divine mind tried to 
 vergegenwdrtigen all matter at once, it would have.
 
 DICKINSON S. MILLER 257 
 
 not one picture, but a multitude of models on 
 all scales. And precisely because this supposed 
 "content" would really, in kind or stuff, be in- 
 distinguishable from the plain man's matter, the 
 plain man's matter is subject to the same con- 
 ditions. The incompatibility is logical. A con- 
 tinuous polished brown surface is not a fibrous or 
 a granulated surface. A marshalling of what we 
 scientifically mean by molecules is not what we 
 familiarly mean by a desk. It may be said that 
 we must on reflection let the desk go and keep the 
 molecules. In that case we should have to ask 
 whether the same diflSculty did not apply over again 
 to the various aspects of the molecules. But we 
 need not, for our subject is naive realism, which 
 will not let the desk go, and yet recognizes no 
 diflSculty in keeping both. 
 
 The problem, briefly, is this. Can all the as- 
 pects of matter be compacted into what may be 
 called one aspect ? A mind that fully knew them, 
 knew them even representatively, would know them 
 so. And would this joint aspect be acceptable to 
 naive realism as its world in sum ? That is the 
 test. If not, then we cannot say that naive real- 
 ism regards its world as all concurrently real in 
 the ultimate sense of that word. It is debarred 
 from doing so by inability. 
 
 Of course, as we saw, the common conscious- 
 ness has no "if." Really to think an "if" means 
 to think in some form an alternative. But when I 
 
 17
 
 258 NAIVE REALISM 
 
 represent unperceived aspects there is no practical 
 need of representing any alternative to their ap- 
 pearing each in its due place and turn. Let us 
 admit it at once: naive realism does not bother 
 itself to carry any idea about with it that is not 
 essential for practice. My only reason for not 
 accepting naive realism as a sufficient metaphysic 
 of matter is that there is no such theory. It is 
 more naive than we thought. All there is of it is 
 acceptable. One phase of what there is of it is the 
 flexibility of the conceptions with which it works, 
 its ready submission to the substitutions of expe- 
 rience, the ease of mind with which for the moment 
 it is off with the old and on with the new. The 
 revealed aspect of the present object is for us a 
 sign of aspects that might come. Now the naive 
 realist's notion of absent objects, being got from 
 them when they or their kind were present, is 
 always as much like his impression of present ob- 
 jects as possible. The aspects of absent objects 
 that he represents in his thought of them are signs 
 of the other phases in reserve. Just as he does 
 not label them as mere signs when they are percep- 
 tions, so he does not when they are ideas. But 
 their function and utiUty are to stand there in his 
 mind as signs of more. When we so recognize 
 and class them we do not undo naive realism, we 
 only interpret and complete it. In other words, 
 naive realism does not of course deny in its own 
 thought that the aspects of its world are in the
 
 DICKINSON S. MILLER 259 
 
 strict sense concurrently real; it merely omits any 
 affirmation on the subject ; leaving it to metaphysics 
 to perceive that they could not be. 
 
 The truth is that if we would understand our 
 natural notions of the external world, we should 
 ask ourselves, not what we think about it, but how 
 we think about it ; not what verdict do our judg- 
 ments give, but what is the nature or method of 
 judgment on the subject. We have not yet thrown 
 off the tyranny of language. We still expect to 
 find a judgment built like a sentence, and an idea 
 packed with all that is mentioned in the definition 
 of the term we have for it. But the elements of 
 thought are fragments with forces, and a definition 
 tells merely the ideas that are recoverable by the 
 mind at need as justly pertaining to a term. Put 
 your questions to the rustic or the child or your 
 naive self, and they will discourse fluent language 
 in reply. The difficulty does not lie between the 
 subject-matter and their answers, but between their 
 answers and their ideas. Not that there could be 
 any more apt expression of their ideas, but that the 
 metaphysical cross-examiner may not understand 
 the laws of expression. A little advance upon 
 naivete is a dangerous thing. About natural real- 
 ism we have just reached w^hat seems a sore ex- 
 tremity of paradox; but then when language is 
 confronted with thought, as thought is seen by the 
 psychological imagination, paradox is the invariable 
 result.
 
 260 NAIVE REALISM 
 
 Berkeley's third explanation of the existence of 
 unperceived objects was developed in the doctrine 
 of Mill that they are permanent possibilities of 
 experience, and Mill attributed this view of them 
 to the ordinary mind. Our business is with the 
 ordinary mind only, and our conclusion brings us 
 into the neighborhood of Mill's. (1) The stuff 
 of which unperceived objects are made in our 
 thought of them is of course solely the stuff of ex- 
 perience; (2) this stuff is never compacted by our 
 thought into '* whole objects," all the aspects of 
 which exist together, as philosophical realism re- 
 quires; (3) however, the fact that the aspects do 
 not so exist together is not consciously recognized 
 by our thought, which merely takes them in turn 
 without trying to put them together and thus test 
 their compatibility. The fact that we never try to 
 weld all the aspects into one is the very reason why 
 we do not know that they are incompatible and 
 are surprised when we are told so. Unperceived 
 objects then are possibilities of successive experi- 
 ence to us, as they figure in our natural thought, 
 but Mill was mistaken if he meant that we class 
 them as such.^ 
 
 Our problem in its totality has been double: 
 what is naive realism in its belief about perceived 
 objects, and what is it in its belief about objects 
 
 * Very likely he did not mean this. Perhaps hia language only marks 
 the fact that he had not sufficiently separated the problem of naive thought 
 from that of philosophic truth, or thought the former problem out in the 
 respect in which we have last been studying it.
 
 DICKINSON S. MILLER 261 
 
 unperceived ? These terms, however, have been 
 coarsely used and need analysis. In one possible 
 sense no object is perceived. Most of what belongs 
 to its integrity, and to its character as that object, 
 does not appear in the perception. Should we 
 then speak only of perceived aspects and unper- 
 ceived aspects ? No, for the " one possible sense " 
 in which we here speak of perception is a perverted 
 sense. Properly speaking, perception is the posses- 
 sion of certain aspects flus the preparedness for 
 others. The aspects possessed shade off into vague- 
 ness. The preparedness, considered as a psycho- 
 logical fact, is no doubt partly the associative 
 function of the elements present in consciousness, 
 and therefore not itself present in consciousness at 
 all ; and partly an element of consciousness answer- 
 ing to motor processes half awakened. Perception 
 is a step out into a world of objects, with the other 
 foot held ready, as it were, for another step. 
 Objectivity itself is the potentiality of further 
 spatial aspects, and, these aspects being as we 
 have seen incompatible, the nature of objectivity 
 itself excludes the notion that they co-exist as 
 *' natural realism " turned into metaphysic would 
 require.
 
 KANT AND THE ENGLISH PLATONISTS
 
 KANT AND THE ENGLISH PLATONISTS 
 
 By Arthur O. Lovejot 
 
 A MEMORABLE philosophical discourse deliv- 
 ered by Professor James at Berkeley in 1898 — 
 the discourse in which the term "pragmatism" 
 as the name for a philosophical method was first 
 sent forth upon its extraordinary career — con- 
 cluded with this striking historical generahzation : 
 "I beheve that Kant bequeaths to us not one sin- 
 gle conception which is both indispensable to phi- 
 losophy and which philosophy either did not possess 
 before him or was not destined inevitably to acquire 
 after him through the growth of men's reflection 
 upon the hypotheses by which science interprets 
 nature. The true Une of philosophic progress lies, 
 in short, it seems to me, not so much through Kant 
 as round him to the point where now we stand. Phi- 
 losophy can perfectly well outflank him, and build 
 herself up into adequate fulness by prolonging 
 more directly the older Enghsh Hues." 
 
 The present paper is a partial commentary upon 
 this text; and it will offer certain detailed evidence 
 for the substantial accuracy of the generahzation 
 in precisely that particular where it may seem at 
 
 265
 
 266 KANT AND THE PLATONISTS 
 
 first sight, and to most readers, to be least plausible. 
 By the generalization, as I here propose to justify 
 it, I by no means understand it to be implied that 
 Kant rendered no useful service to philosophy, nor 
 that he is not historically a figure of exceptional 
 importance. But I do understand the observation 
 to mean — what I also believe to be a precisely 
 verifiable fact — that the Kantian doctrine was 
 destitute of any radical originahty; that none of 
 the more general and fundamental contentions of 
 the "Kritik der reinen Vernunft" were particularly 
 novel or revolutionary at the time of their original 
 promulgation; and that the principal develop- 
 ments of post-Kantian philosophy, even in the os- 
 tensibly Kantian schools, were not dependent upon 
 the historic interposition of the ingenious com- 
 plexities of the critical system, but were clearly 
 present in germ, sometimes even in fairly full- 
 blown form, in the writings of Kant's predecessors 
 or contemporaries, out of which they would in time 
 inevitably have come to fruition. To the general- 
 ization as thus construed I think it necessary, 
 however, to make one exception, and that one of 
 especial interest in the present connection. Kant's 
 doctrine of the "primacy of the practical reason,'* 
 
 — both in its negative and its positive imphcations, 
 
 — I take to be the original of a large and diversi- 
 fied class of subsequent tendencies, of which the 
 movement known as pragmatism is (at least in cer- 
 tain of its aspects) one variant. Even this idea was
 
 ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY 267 
 
 assuredly not new; but I know of no philosopher 
 before Kant who asserted it so definitely and pre- 
 cisely and gave it such place as a central methodo- 
 logical principle. But this one doctrine aside, the 
 text which I have chosen needs, I believe, no very 
 material quahfication. That it seems — as it 
 probably does — to many a glaring historical para- 
 dox, signifies only that the commonly, or at least 
 the popularly, accepted general outHne of the his- 
 tory of philosophy is lacking in any great measure 
 of historical truth. That part of it which concerns 
 Kant's historical place and relations is particularly 
 full of mensonges convenus — as a result, partly, of 
 certain pecuharities of Kant's own mind, partly 
 of certain pecuharities of the intellectual fashions 
 prevalent in Germany between 1780 and 1820, and 
 partly of certain peculiarities of the dominant tra- 
 ditions of the German mind during the greater part 
 of the nineteenth century. In the present short 
 paper I shall, of course, attempt to deal only with 
 a single phase of this subject. 
 
 The "older Enghsh hues" in philosophy which 
 Professor James had in view in the concluding pas- 
 sage of his Berkeley address were, I suppose, chiefly 
 the British empiricist and sceptical movements of the 
 eighteenth century, and perhaps the Newtonian 
 cosmical physics. That the critical or negative side 
 of Kant's doctrine — its antimetaphysical temper, 
 the positivistic note of the Aujkldrung which sounds 
 so loudly, especially in the Preface of the First Edi-
 
 268 KANT AND THE PLATONISTS 
 
 tion — is largely derivative from earlier, and chiefly 
 from British, sources, is tolerably obvious, since 
 Kant himself made acknowledgment of his obliga- 
 tion here in a famous and now hackneyed phrase. 
 But, it may be asked, were not the affirmative, 
 constructive elements in the system — the trans- 
 cendental ideahsm and the arguments upon which 
 it is based, the general doctrine of the a 'priori con- 
 ditions of the possibiHty of experience, the assertion 
 of the active functioning of the mind in the deter- 
 mination even of objects of sense- perception — 
 were not these thoughts original with Kant and 
 peculiar to him ? Original they may have been, if 
 by that is meant only that Kant did not actually 
 borrow them from any other philosopher. But 
 essentially new they were not. That they are rather 
 generally supposed to have been so is due partly 
 to the prevailing neglect — sometimes even by 
 learned historians of philosophy — of an interesting 
 and by no means uninfluential movement in Eng- 
 lish thought. The Enghsh Platonists ^ of the later 
 seventeenth and early eighteenth century, though 
 they are not as a rule easy reading, and though they 
 are commonly very deficient in that critical and 
 sceptical temper which Kant had learned from 
 the long discipline of the Enlightenment, are not a 
 neghgible quantity in the history of European phi- 
 losophy. But they have been very inadequately 
 
 * One cannot properly speak of them as Cambridge Platonists, for several 
 of the most significant metaphysicians of this period and this general school 
 — Burthogge, Noma of Bemerton, Collier — were Oxford men.
 
 ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY 269 
 
 dealt with by English students of philosophy ; and it 
 is a humiliating fact that, just as, until the publica- 
 tion of the first volume of Dr. Woodbridge Riley's 
 monumental work, the only serious attempt at a 
 comprehensive history of philosophy in America 
 was due to a French scholar, so for a large part of 
 the history of this remarkable episode in Enghsh 
 epistemology and metaphysics we are still de- 
 pendent upon M. Georges Lyon's "L'Idealisme 
 en Angleterre au XVIII* siecle/' Modern and 
 accessible editions of the writings, or of judicious 
 selections from the writings, of most of these early 
 Enghsh rationalists and ideahsts are still to seek. 
 
 In what follows I shall undertake to present evi- 
 dence for the truth of three observations respecting 
 these English Platonists : (1) that ix^oy anticipated 
 Kant in his so-called "Copernican revolution," 
 and, incidentally thereto, in his general doctrine of 
 a priori mental elements, in his main line of argu- 
 ment for the existence of such elements, and in the 
 pecuhar type of "transcendental" idealism which 
 resulted from that epistemological doctrine; (2) 
 that Kant was similarly anticipated by one of these 
 English philosophers in the employment of the ar- 
 gument from the mathematical antinomies concern- 
 ing infinity and infinite divisibility as a final and 
 definitive proof of the ideahty of the spatial world ; 
 (3) that the most characteristic ideas and tenden- 
 cies of the so-called neo- Kantian school, especially 
 in England and America, are already plainly recog-
 
 270 KANT AND THE PLATONISTS 
 
 nizable in certain of these English Platonists, so 
 that one is entitled to say that the metaphysical and 
 theological conclusions and the dialectical devices 
 which this school is supposed to have elaborated 
 out of Kantian materials might equally well have 
 been derived from the English idealists of the sev- 
 enteenth century. In undertaking to demonstrate 
 these three points, I necessarily must limit myself 
 to emphasizing similarities ; through the resem- 
 blances to be noted there run, of course, plenty of 
 differences of detail, of mental temper and attitude, 
 of historic heritage. These differences are not 
 less instructive than the analogies, and it would be 
 interesting to scrutinize them closely, if space per- 
 mitted. But in the hmits here available, it seems 
 more to the point to dwell chiefly upon that side of 
 the historical relations in question which appears 
 to be the more frequently overlooked. 
 
 The part of Kant's epistemology which seemed 
 to him so novel and so momentous that he likened 
 it to a "Copernican revolution'* in philosophy, 
 consisted in the hypothesis that knowledge de- 
 pends upon the "conformity of objects to our 
 mode of cognition " rather than upon the conform- 
 ity of our mode of cognition to objects. This doc- 
 trine that "the world as object is conditioned 
 by me as subject," whether regarded as a daring
 
 ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY 271 
 
 paradox or as an ultimate truth, has generally been 
 supposed to be sufficient of itself to establish the 
 reputation of the Kantian system for epoch-making 
 originality; and, especially by the literary popu- 
 larizers of philosophy, it has very frequently been 
 looked upon as the supreme example of the profun- 
 dity of Kant's speculative insight. It is, says Mr. 
 W. S. Lilly ,^ "the deepest thought that has ever 
 entered the human mind." However that may be 
 — there is little profit in disputing about superla- 
 tives — the thought is at all events one that had 
 entered a number of Enghsh minds, and had been 
 set forth in more than one widely-read book during 
 the century preceding the birth of the Critical 
 Philosophy. To speak of it as a peculiarly " Kant- 
 ian" contribution to the world's stock of ideas is an 
 historical absurdity; that Kant himself considered 
 it a thing startling and revolutionary is only one 
 among many illustrations of his astonishing igno- 
 rance, or forgetfulness, of all save a very few of 
 the philosophical discoveries and tendencies of his 
 own age and of the generation or two that preceded 
 him. For the English Platonists could not w^ell 
 have been more expUcit or emphatic than they were 
 in insisting that the mind is no tabula rasa but a 
 thing possessing a fixed constitution of its own 
 antecedently to experience ; that, not only in reflec- 
 tive cognition but even in sense- perception, it has 
 an active, and not a merely passive, role ; and that 
 
 * Fortnightly Review, August, 1906.
 
 272 KANT AND THE PLATONISTS 
 
 the object is determined by the nature and catego- 
 ries of the mind rather than the contents of the 
 mind by the simple infiltration of ready-made ob- 
 jects. In the most celebrated of the productions of 
 the Cambridge school, Cudworth's " True Intellec- 
 tual System of the Universe " (1678) — a work that 
 has, behind all the quaintness and naivete of its 
 style, a good deal more philosophical acumen than 
 it usually gets credit for — the opinions in question 
 are expounded with characteristic prolixity. Cud- 
 worth and his like-minded contemporaries were 
 brought to the elaboration of this type of doctrine 
 largely by their reaction against the empiricism and 
 imphcit scepticism of Hobbes, to whom their rela- 
 tion was entirely analogous to that of Kant to 
 Hume. I am inclined to think, however, that the 
 empiricism of Hume represented a greater advance 
 — in clarity of thought and force of reasoning — 
 over that of Hobbes, than did the apriorist ration- 
 aHsm of Kant over that of the English Platonists. 
 "We have," says Cudworth, "set it for the elev- 
 enth atheistic argument, that knowledge being the 
 information of the things themselves known, and 
 all conception the action of that which is conceived 
 and the passion [i. e., the passive receptivity] of the 
 conceiver; the world and all sensible things must 
 needs be, before there could be any knowledge or 
 conception of them. . . . For, according to these 
 atheists, things made knowledge, and not knowl- 
 edge things; they meaning by things here only
 
 ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY 273 
 
 such as are sensible and corporeal. So that mind 
 and understanding could not be the creator of the 
 world and these sensible things, itself being the 
 mere creature of them ; a secondary derivative re- 
 sult from them, or a fantastic image of them ; the 
 youngest and most creaturely thing in the whole 
 world. . . . Now we shall, for the present, only 
 so far forth concern ourselves in confuting this 
 atheistic doctrine as to lay a foundation thereby 
 for the demonstration of the contrary, namely, the 
 existence of a God, or of a mind before the world, 
 from the nature of knowledge and understanding. 
 First, then, it is a sottish conceit of these atheists, 
 proceeding from their not attending to their own 
 cogitations, that not only sense, but also knowledge 
 and understanding in men, is but a tumult, raised 
 from corporeal things without pressing upon the 
 organs of their body ; or else, as they declare them- 
 selves more distinctly, nothing but the activity of 
 sensible objects upon them and their passion from 
 them. For if this were true, then would everything 
 that suffered and reacted motion, especially polite 
 bodies, as looking-glasses, have something both of 
 sense and understanding in them. It is plain that 
 there comes nothing to us from bodies without, but 
 only local motion and pressure. Neither is sense 
 itself the mere passion of those motions, but the per- 
 ception of their passions in a way of fancy. But 
 sensible things themselves (as, for example, light 
 and colors) are not known and understood either by 
 
 18
 
 274 KANT AND THE PLATONISTS 
 
 the passion or the fancy of sense, nor by anything 
 merely foreign and adventitious, but by intelligible 
 ideas exerted from the mind itself, that is, by some- 
 thing native and domestic to it: nothing being more 
 true than this of Boetius, that * Omne, quod scitur, 
 non ex sua, sed ex comprehendentium natura, vi, 
 et facultate cognoscitur : ' Whatsoever is known, 
 is known, not by its own force and power, but 
 by the force and power, the vigor and activity of 
 that thing itself, which knows and comprehends. 
 Wherefore, besides the phantasms of singular 
 bodies, or of sensible things existing without us 
 (which are not mere passions neither), it is plain 
 that our human mind hath other cogitations or 
 conceptions in it; namely, the ideas of the intel- 
 ligible natures and essences of things, which are 
 universal, and by and under which it understands 
 singulars.^* ^ 
 
 Here, then, we find in Cudworth the good Kant- 
 ian doctrine that even the presented object of 
 sense is what it is because it gets its constitution 
 from the constitution of the mind that apprehends 
 it; although Cudworth, like Kant, intends at the 
 same time to hold fast to an essential realism, and 
 has no thought of maintaining that all that there 
 is to the object is furnished it from the perceiving 
 mind. And for the further Kantian contention that 
 we are able to make vahd universal judgments a 
 
 ^ " True Intellectual System of the Universe," London, edition of 1820, 
 III. pp. 400-403.
 
 ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY 275 
 
 priori and that the ground of this abiUty lies in 
 the mind's possession of certain constitutive con- 
 cepts not derived from experience, the pages of the 
 "True Intellectual System" are full of reiterations 
 of it, couched in seventeenth- century and Platon- 
 istic language. "As for axiomatical truths," says 
 Cudworth, for example, " in which something is 
 affirmed or denied, as these are not all passions 
 from bodies without us (for what local motions 
 could impress this common notion upon our minds, 
 that things which agree in one third, agree amongst 
 themselves, or any other ?) ; so neither are these 
 things only gathered by induction from repeated 
 sensations. . . . Thus Aristotle ingeniously: 'It 
 is evident that there is no knowledge (of the uni- 
 versal theorems of geometry) by sense. For if we 
 could perceive by sense that the three angles of a 
 triangle were equal to two right ; yet should we not 
 rest satisfied in this, as having therefore a suflBcient 
 knowledge hereof; but would seek further after a 
 demonstration of it; sense reaching only to singu- 
 lars, but knowledge to universals.' When from 
 the universal idea of a triangle, which is neither 
 here nor there nor anywhere without our mind, 
 but yet hath an intelhgible entity, we see a plain 
 necessity, that its three angles must be equal to two 
 right, then do we know the truth of this universal 
 theorem, and not before: as also we understand 
 that every singular triangle (so far as it is true) hath 
 this property in it, wherefore our knowledge of this,
 
 «76 KANT AND THE PLATONISTS 
 
 and other like truths, is not derived from singulars, 
 nor do we arrive to them by way of ascent from 
 singulars to universals ; but, on the contrary, hav- 
 ing first found them in the universals, we afterward 
 descending apply them to singulars: so that our 
 knowledge here is not after singular bodies, and 
 secondarily or derivatively from them, but in order 
 of nature before them, and proleptical to them." ^ 
 
 Among the arguments in Kant's "Transcendental 
 Esthetic" by which he seeks to establish the apri- 
 ority of the Vorstellungen of space and time, the 
 only one that can be considered entirely unequiv- 
 ocal and important, the one which he himself, in 
 the Second Edition, erects into a separate section 
 of his reasoning under the name of the " Transcen- 
 dental Exposition," is that based upon the alleged 
 existence of indubitable and clearly a priori judg- 
 ments in the mathematical sciences and in the 
 general axioms concerning the time-relations of 
 phenomena. Similarly the Enghsh Platonists 
 habitually rest their case for the reality of a priori 
 mental elements chiefly upon the certainty of the 
 fundamental propositions of mathematics — propo- 
 sitions which, because they are universal, could not 
 be justified upon the basis of experience. This 
 habit in the Cambridge men is perhaps suflSciently 
 exemplified by the last citation from Cudworth; 
 many more examples could, however, be drawn 
 from that writer and from More. The essential 
 
 * " True Intellectual System of the Universe," London, edition of 1820, 
 m, pp. 403-405.
 
 ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY 277 
 
 argumentative basis for the apriorism of these 
 seventeenth-century epistemologists was thus 
 identical with the only serious argumentative 
 basis for the apriorism of Kant's "Transcendental 
 ^Esthetic. " 
 
 It is, of course, true that these English Platonists 
 made no such definite and methodical attempt to 
 discriminate and precisely enumerate the several 
 a priori elements in knowledge, as did the peculiarly 
 systematic and taxonomic mind of Kant. Cud- 
 worth and his school often wTite as if all sorts of 
 miscellaneous general concepts might be supposed, 
 like the original Platonic Ideas, to exist in the in- 
 tellect a priori. This they certainly did not really 
 mean to affirm ; but they undeniably left the ques- 
 tion concerning the exact character and limits of 
 the a priori as an unsettled problem for their suc- 
 cessors to deal with. Kant must be said to have 
 made an honest, though a far from successful, effort 
 to grapple with this problem. But in doing so he 
 was only correcting and filling in the details of the 
 general epistemological scheme which he shared in 
 common with his English rationalistic predeces- 
 sors ; he was not discovering a new and revolu- 
 tionary philosophical principle. And there are 
 numerous indications in the work of seventeenth- 
 century Enghsh writers that they primarily meant 
 by their " proleptical " or a priori notions those 
 relational ideas or categories which enter into every 
 presentation of objects and make possible the unity
 
 278 KANT AND THE PLATONISTS 
 
 and interconnectedness of rational experience; 
 and there are occasional rudimentary and tentative 
 attempts at an enumeration of these categories. 
 Thus Henry More : ^ " Besides this, there are a 
 multitude of relative notions or ideas in the mind 
 of man, as well mathematical as logical, which if 
 we prove cannot be the impresses of any material 
 object from without, it will necessarily follow that 
 they are from the soul herself within, and are the 
 natural furniture of human understanding. Such 
 are these: Cause, Effect, Whole and Part, Like 
 and Unhke, Proportion and Analogy, Equality 
 and Inequality, Symmetry and Asymmetry, and 
 the hke ; all which relative ideas I shall easily prove 
 to be no material impresses from without upon 
 the soul, but her own active conception proceeding 
 from herself whilst she takes notice of external ob- 
 jects."* Kant's systematic analysis of the a priori 
 faculties of the mind seems to have been still more 
 closely foreshadowed in the *' Organum Vetus et 
 Novum" (1677) and the "Essay upon Reason and 
 the Nature of Spirits " (1694) of Richard Burthogge, 
 an Oxford man. But, unhappily, neither of these 
 works of this noteworthy English philosopher ap- 
 pears to be available anywhere in the city of New 
 York; and I am dependent for information con- 
 cerning them upon M. Lyon's invaluable study. 
 If there be any reader of this paper not acquainted 
 with M. Lyon's book, I can only refer him to it for 
 
 * "Antidote against Atheism," 1655, p. 22.
 
 ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY 279 
 
 a too brief account of a system exhibiting, in its 
 general outlines, a singular degree of resemblance 
 to the theoretical philosophy of Kant. But I can- 
 not refrain from including in the present compila- 
 tion of English anticipations of Kant a passage of 
 Burthogge's expressing very precisely the peculiar 
 type of the Kantian idealism — an idealism pri- 
 marily based upon, and hmited in its bearings by, 
 the epistemological theory of a priori mental ele- 
 ments. It is necessary to turn this back into 
 English as well as may be from M. Lyon's French 
 rendering.^ 
 
 "For us men," says Burthogge," things are noth- 
 ing save in so far as they are known by us, and 
 they are known by us only as they exist in the sense 
 or imagination or thought; in a word, as they 
 exist in our faculties. . . . Each faculty takes a 
 part, though not an exclusive part, in the produc- 
 tion of its immediate object; as the eye produces 
 colors and is said to see, as the ear produces 
 sounds and the imagination images, so the under- 
 standing produces the ideas or conceptions under 
 which it apprehends and beholds things. So that 
 all the immediate objects of human thought are 
 entia cogitationisy or appearances only ; they being 
 not properly and (if I may be allowed to use a 
 school- term) formally in the things themselves 
 . . . but only in the faculties of the intellect." 
 This is pure Kantian (as distinguished from Berke- 
 
 ' " L'Idealisme en Angleterre au X\^^« si^cle," pp. 75, 76.
 
 280 KANT AND THE PLATONISTS 
 
 leyan) idealism ; and Burthogge holds fast as ten- 
 aciously as Kant to the aflfirmation of the real 
 existence of things-in- themselves behind these 
 mentally apperceived and subjectively determined 
 objects of experience. He does so, also, as M. 
 Lyon points out, for a like reason, and with a like 
 inconsequence; he feels the necessity of assigning 
 some extra-mental cause for the concrete, contin- 
 gent, empirical element in the content of sensation. 
 It is natural to inquire, at this point, whether 
 the philosopher of Konigsberg can have known 
 and in any degree have been influenced by these 
 EngHsh precursors. That Kant should not have 
 read Cudworth would certainly have been singu- 
 lar. A Latin translation of the "True Intellectual 
 System'* by J. L. Mosheim, a professor and even- 
 tually chancellor of the University of Gottingen, 
 was pubHshed at Jena in 1733, and a second edi- 
 tion at Leyden forty years later ; to the latter pubh- 
 cation attention was called in Nicolai's " Allgemeine 
 deutsche Bibliothek" of the same year. But, as I 
 have said, Kant was capable of ignoring to an ex- 
 traordinary degree — or, it may be, of forgetting — 
 a large part of the philosophical literature of his 
 time. If he had read and remembered Cudworth, 
 or any other writer of the same school, he could 
 hardly have flattered himself so complacently as 
 he did upon the entire novelty of his " Copernican 
 revolution."
 
 ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY 281 
 
 II 
 
 The doctrine of the ideahty of the world of 
 objects in space and time rests, in Kant's system, 
 upon two supports of dissimilar character and un- 
 equal strength. In the " Transcendental Esthetic " 
 it is a direct inference from the theory that our no- 
 tions of space and time constitute pure percepts 
 of which the mind is in possession a priori; from 
 the epistemological affirmation of the apriority of 
 our ideas of these two elements of the world of our 
 sensible experience, is immediately deduced the 
 metaphysical negation of the extra- mental reahty 
 of that world, so far, at least, as its spatial and 
 temporal contents are concerned. But even sup- 
 posing the arguments offered for the existence of 
 space and time as a priori percepts to be conclusive 
 — a point which it would be out of place to discuss 
 here — the transition from apriority to ideahty is 
 manifestly something less than coercive. For the 
 transition gets its sole sanction from the law of 
 parsimony; which can hardly be regarded as an 
 absolutely necessary law of thought. Why should 
 not space or time be both an idea with which our 
 mind is furnished a priori, and also a real charac- 
 ter of the objective universe of Ding e- an- sick? In 
 the "iEsthetic" Kant certainly is constantly guilty 
 of the paralogism of translating the proposition, 
 "Space is the subjective form of the perception
 
 282 KANT AND THE PLATONISTS 
 
 of phenomena of the external senses" into the 
 proposition "Space is nothing but the subjective 
 form of the perception of the phenomena of the 
 external senses." To assert dogmatically the ex- 
 istence of space on both sides of the Kantian an- 
 tithesis of thought and thing would perhaps be to 
 multiply entities beyond necessity. But the proof 
 that such an hypothesis is not necessary is not 
 equivalent to a proof that it is false or impossible 
 or absurd. After all of Kant's reasoning upon this 
 subject in the earlier part of the ** Kritik" one is left 
 with a fairly open option between two perfectly 
 conceivable hypotheses, namely : Space and time 
 are exclusively subjective forms; or, Space and 
 time are at once subjective forms and objective 
 realities. The latter hypothesis is the less simple 
 of the two, it is less in conformity with the maxim 
 known as "Ockham's razor"; but on the other 
 hand, it seems more natural and more congen- 
 ial to the human intellect. Consequently, though 
 admitting the validity of every one of Kant's 
 reasonings in the "Transcendental ^Esthetic, " 
 a fair observer of the situation could hardly say 
 more than that, at the end of that part of the dis- 
 cussion, the conflict between critical idealism and 
 physical realism had issued in a draw. 
 
 But in the "Transcendental Antithetic" Kant 
 brings forward an argument for his sort of idealism 
 that has much greater pretensions to compulsive- 
 ness and conclusiveness. In the first and second
 
 ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY 283 
 
 antinomies and the "critical solution of the con- 
 flict of reason with itself" in those cosmological 
 problems, he undertakes to show that the assertion 
 of the objective reahty of the spatial and temporal 
 world is, not simply superfluous, but absurd and 
 self-contradictory. For — as the familiar argument 
 runs — so long as we think of space and time as 
 really existing things we can, with perfect logic, 
 prove either to be both infinite and finite in extent, 
 both infinitely divided and incapable of infinite 
 division. For the realist there is no escape from 
 this paradox. Only transcendental idealism can 
 make clear at once the origin and the solution of 
 this apparent self-contradiction and self- stultifi- 
 cation of the human understanding. " If we regard 
 the two statements that the world is infinite in ex- 
 tension, and that the world is finite in extension, as 
 contradictory opposites, we assume that the world 
 is a thing in itself;" and from this assumption the 
 whole absurdity arises. "But if we remove this 
 supposition, or transcendental illusion, and deny 
 that the world is a thing in itself, then the con- 
 tradictory opposition of the two statements becomes 
 purely dialectical, and as the world does not exist 
 by itself (independently of the regressive series of 
 my representations), it exists neither as a whole by 
 itself infinite^ nor as a whole bij itselj finite.** In 
 short, "the antinomy of pure reason with regard 
 to its cosmological ideas is removed by showing 
 that it is ... an illusion produced by our apply-
 
 284 KANT AND THE PLATONISTS 
 
 ing the idea of absolute totality, which exists only 
 as a condition of things by themselves, to phenom- 
 ena, which exist in our representation only. . . . 
 We may, however, derive from that antinomy a 
 true . . . advantage, namely, by proving through 
 it indirectly the transcendental ideality of phenom- 
 ena, in case anyone should not have been satisfied 
 by the direct proof given in the 'Transcendental 
 .Esthetic. * The proof would consist in the following 
 dilemma : If the world is a whole existing by itself, 
 it is either finite or infinite. Now the former as well 
 as the latter proposition is false, as has been shown 
 by the proofs given in the antithesis on one and 
 in the thesis on the other side. It is false, there- 
 fore, that the world is a whole existing by itself. 
 Hence it follows that phenomena uberhaupt are 
 nothing outside our representations." This argu- 
 ment Kant — who never recognized the obvious 
 limitations of the arguments in the " Transcendental 
 ^Esthetic" — advances as a subsidiary rather than 
 as the main proof for his transcendental idealism. 
 But it is apparent, from what has already been said, 
 that it is really the only argument that has any claim 
 to be regarded as commensurate with the thing to 
 be proven. The other leg of Kant's reasoning, so 
 to say, is visibly too short to reach up to the con- 
 clusion that it is designed to support. 
 
 Now, just this argument from the antinomies 
 respecting the infinity and infinite divisibihty of 
 space to an ideaHstic conclusion, had been clearly.
 
 ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY 285 
 
 and a ^ood deal more simply, set forth by Arthur 
 Collier in his "Clavis Universalis" (1713). As that 
 remarkable work of the earUest ^ Enghsh ideahst 
 is less famiUar and less accessible than it should be, 
 I reproduce with some fulness the passages in 
 which Colher anticipates Kant.' 
 
 The "third argument" in the "Clavis" for the 
 ideahty of the external world is as follows: "An 
 external world whose extension is absolute, that is, 
 not relatively depending on any faculty of percep- 
 tion, has (in my opinion) such a repugnancy in its 
 extension as actually destroys the being of the 
 subject- world. The repugnancy is this, that it is, 
 or must be, both finite and infinite. Accordingly, 
 then, I argue thus : That w'hich is both finite and 
 infinite in extent is absolutely non-existent, or 
 there is, or can be, no such world ; or thus, an ex- 
 
 • Berkeley's "Principles of Human Knowledge" was published in 1710. 
 But an earlier draft of Collier's argument has been found, dating from 1708 
 (see LyesUe Stephen, s. v., in "Dictionary of National Biography"); and 
 Collier himself speaks of ha\'ing waited ten years before publishing his new 
 theories. There appears to be no evidence of Berkeley's having hit upon his 
 doctrine before 170.5. If our histories of philosophy were as solicitous to be 
 historical as they are to be philosophical, the name of Colher would be coupled 
 with that of Berkeley as constantly and closely as is the name of Leibniz with 
 that of Newton in the history of mathematics, the name of Wallace with that 
 of Darwin in the history of biologj', the name of Adams with that of Leverrier 
 in the history of planetary astronomy. As a matter of fact, in Windelband's 
 " History of Philosophy " the date of Collier's book is given wrongly (EngUsh 
 tr., p. 471), and the simultaneity of the two "discoveries" of idealism is not 
 pointed out ; in Ueberweg Colher is incorrectly said to have been influenced 
 by Berkeley; and in Hdtlding there is to be found no mention of Collier 
 at all. 
 
 * Citations are from the edition of the " Clavis Universalis " in Parr's 
 *' Metaphysical Tracts by English Philosophers of the Eighteenth Centurj-," 
 London, 1837.
 
 286 KANT AND THE PLATONISTS 
 
 tent or expansion which is both finite and infinite 
 is neither finite nor infinite, that is, is no expansion 
 at all. But this is the case of an external expansion, 
 ergo, there is, or can be, no such expansion." 
 
 Collier then dilates upon the self-evidence of the 
 two essential premises of this reasoning, and con- 
 tinues: "As to the form and manner of this argu- 
 ment, it has first evidently this to plead for itself, 
 that there is nothing in its conclusion but what is 
 in the premises ; which shews it to be no fallacy 
 but a just and legal argument. And also this, 
 secondly, that it is exactly parallel with several 
 arguments which I could name, allowed by all to 
 be good and perfectly demonstrative. As for in- 
 stance, suppose a man should advance the notion 
 of a triangular square. Or suppose two persons 
 contending about the attributes of this strange idea : 
 one arguing from the idea of triangle, that it has 
 but three angles ; and the other contending that it 
 must have four, from the idea of a square; what 
 could any reasonable stander-by conclude from 
 this, but that the thing they are disputing about is 
 nothing at all, even an impossibility or contradic- 
 tion? Nay, the disputants themselves must needs 
 close in with this manner of arguing, and that on 
 two accounts. 
 
 "First, in that this manner of arguing accom- 
 modates the difference between them, and salves 
 the honor of both. For by this, both appear to 
 be in the right in the precise points they are con-
 
 ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY 287 
 
 tending for; and wrong only in something which 
 they are both equally concerned for, viz., the sup- 
 position of the being of a triangular square, which 
 is the thing supposed by consent between them. 
 But chiefly, secondly, in that tl^.e person who argues 
 in this manner must be compelled to have the law 
 of reason on his side, and may compel them, on their 
 own principles, to assent to his conclusion. This is 
 done by granting to each party his point, namely, 
 that a triangular square is both triangular and 
 quadrangular. This done, they have nothing to 
 do but to answer each other's arguments, which it 
 is here supposed they cannot do. By this, there- 
 fore, each grants the other to be in the right. So 
 that for a stander-by to grant both to be in the 
 right is, in this case, a demonstration that they are 
 both in the wrong; or in other words, that the 
 thing they are disputing about is nothing at all. I 
 have mentioned this possible, rather than any actual^ 
 instance of this kind, because I would give an in- 
 stance wherein I may be sure to have every one on 
 my side. For certainly no one can doubt whether 
 this be a good argument or not : 
 
 "A figure which is both triangular and quad- 
 rangular is not at all. 
 
 But this is the case of a triangular square. 
 
 Ergo, there is no such figure." 
 Precisely parallel to this, then. Collier observes, 
 is the argument concerning the external world, as 
 thus :
 
 288 KANT AND THE PLATONISTS 
 
 "A world which is both finite and infinite is 
 not at all. 
 
 But this is the case of an external world. 
 
 Ergo, there is no such world." 
 Similar is Collier's "fourth argument." "From 
 the maximum I come to the minimum naturale; or 
 to the question about the divisibility of matter, 
 quantity, or extension. And here I afiirm in like 
 manner as before, that external matter is both 
 finitely and infinitely divisible; and, consequently, 
 that there is no such thing as external matter.'* 
 
 This idealism of Collier's — all of the arguments 
 for which are more to the point than any of Kant's 
 except those which the " Kritik der reinen Vernunf t " 
 has in common with the " Clavis Universalis " — is, 
 he is careful to point out, not to be understood as a 
 denial of the empirical reality or even of the phe- 
 nomenal externality of that general and collective 
 object of sense, a natural world. "Let the mean- 
 est of my readers be my witness, that I have been 
 so far from doubting of anything of this that I have 
 even contended on all occasions that nothing is, or 
 can be, more evident than the existence of bodies, or 
 of a sensible world. . . . Not the existence but the 
 extra- existence of the sensible world is the point I 
 have been arguing against. And that, not a natural, 
 supposed to be a sensible, but an external world, as 
 such, is impossible." ^ 
 
 ^ M. Lyon has pointed out (more briefly) the similarity between these sec- 
 tions of the " Clavis Universalis " and the Kantian antinomies (op. cit., pp. 
 262, 263) ; but by others the point appears to have been usually ignored.
 
 ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY 289 
 
 The same general line of argument in behalf of 
 ideahsm was simultaneously occurring to the mind 
 of Berkeley ; it is by him expressed in §§ 47, 123- 
 134 of the " Principles of Human Knowledge." But 
 Berkeley is far from bringing out the essential point 
 and the precise logical character of the argument 
 from the antinomies so clearly and unmistakably 
 as does Collier; and the form of his reasoning 
 resembles that of Kant much less closely. The para- 
 doxes about infinite extension and infinite divisi- 
 bihty are, in themselves, of course, a very ancient 
 heritage of European philosophy, going back at all 
 events to Zeno of Elea. But Collier appears to have 
 been the first modern to whom it occurred to use 
 them as a decisive argument against physical real- 
 ism in precisely the Kantian manner. The ques- 
 tion here again naturally suggests itself, whether 
 Kant can have consciously or unconsciously de- 
 rived the suggestion of his own antinomic rea- 
 soning for the transcendental ideality of time and 
 space from the English idealist. That Kant should 
 have been acquainted with the '* Clavis Universalis " 
 is by no means impossible, since a German trans- 
 lation of it, together with Berkeley's " Dialogues," 
 was brought out in 1756 by C. E. Eschenbach, a 
 physician of contemporary celebrity, then pro- 
 fessor of mathematics, and later of anatomy, at 
 Rostock. If Kant failed to improve this oppor- 
 tunity — he had, of course, little or no English — 
 to become better acquainted with the much-dis- 
 
 19
 
 290 KANT AND THE PLATONISTS 
 
 cussed reasonings of these English speculators, 
 he certainly fell somewhat short of his professional 
 obligations. But the probability is against his 
 having received any influence or suggestion from 
 Collier; for one thing, it apparently was not until 
 the year 1769 that (in the words of Adickes^) 
 *'the problem of the antinomies, and his solution 
 of that problem, brought about the change in 
 Kant's views concerning space and time." We 
 have here, probably, not a case of borrowing, but 
 merely one of anticipation.^ 
 
 1 In his " Kant-Studien, " p. 122. 
 
 * Kant might also have learned these ideas nearer home. In the assertion 
 of the ideality of space he had, of com-se, several precursors in Gennany. Leib- 
 niz had explicitly denied the existence of space as a real thing — as anything 
 more than a " confused " representation of the mere relation of co-existence 
 between unextended entities. Maupertuis, President of the Berlin Academy 
 of Sciences, had maintained (in his Lettres, before 1752, Grerman translation, 
 1753) that " ritendve n'eat rien de plus qu'un phSnomme " ; and before the 
 middle of the century the doctrine had become so much of a commonplace 
 in Germany that Euler thought it necessary to devote one of his communi- 
 cations to the Academy to the refutation of those metaphysicians who asserted 
 that " les idAes de I'espace et du temps n'ont aucune rialiU " and that these 
 ideas "n'existent que dans noire entendement" (Hist, de I' Acad. Roy. des 
 Sciences, Berlin, 1748, pp. 324-333). But the reader of Kant alone would 
 be likely to suppose this doctrine to be a peculiar and original discovery of 
 the Konigsberger himself. Yet even in the antinomic argxmient for it he 
 had German as well as English predecessors — though none come so close 
 as Collier to Kant's own way of putting it. Leibniz had repeatedly urged 
 that the only escape from the difficulties about infinite divisibility lay in the 
 recognition of the phenomenality of space ; and Maupertuis had, as one evi- 
 dence of the truth of his contention, pointed to " the great embarrassments 
 into which we fall, when we attempt to carry extension out to infinity, or to 
 decompose it into its ultimate elements."
 
 ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY 291 
 
 III 
 
 It is well known that out of the conceptions and 
 the dialectic implicit in Kant's theory of knowledge 
 there was presently evolved a new type of specula- 
 tive metaphysics and theology, which, in several 
 forms, has had especial vogue and influence in 
 England and America. Its most general and dis- 
 tinguishing characteristic is that it finds the basis 
 for an idealistic and (more or less frankly) monistic 
 rational theology directly in the nature and pre- 
 suppositions of knowledge as such; it rests its ar- 
 gument for the existence of God, or an Absolute 
 Mind, exclusively upon epistemological considera- 
 tions of the Kantian type. By a species of reason- 
 ing a fortiori, it concludes that since, as Kant had 
 insisted, the world of experience as a coherent sys- 
 tem of rationally interrelated objects is possible 
 for me only in so far as its content subsists and is 
 categorized within the unity of my mind — which 
 provides the synthetizing system of spatial, tem- 
 poral, and other relations but is itself something 
 more than a term of those relations — so the whole 
 of reality, including all finite minds, can be con- 
 ceived only as subsisting within the unity of a single, 
 all- comprehending, self-determining, and com- 
 pletely rational Eternal Mind or Absolute Experi- 
 ence. Now, a mode of theological reasoning and 
 a type of theological conclusion pretty closely analo- 
 gous to this is characteristic of the philosophy of
 
 292 KANT AND THE PLATONISTS 
 
 the Cambridge and Oxford Platonists of the seven- 
 teenth century. It appears, as it does in different 
 English metaphysicians of the neo- Kantian school, 
 with varying degrees of definiteness, with unequal 
 degrees of frankness in regard to the monistic or 
 pantheistic tendency of it, and with different ways 
 of carrying through the one general sort of dialec- 
 tic common to the whole group. It is, in fact, 
 possible to find fairly exact (though, of course, 
 relatively crude) counterparts to three distinguish- 
 able varieties of latter-day Kantian metaphysics — 
 the varieties, namely, represented by Green, Royce, 
 and Bradley — in three of our Platonists, respec- 
 tively, Cudworth, Norris, and CoHier. 
 
 1. Readers of Thomas Hill Green have gener- 
 ally found his language concerning the precise 
 ontological relations of the Eternal Consciousness 
 to finite minds somewhat obscure and elusive ; but 
 have found him clear, at all events, in insisting that 
 even our human cognition directly presupposes, and 
 that its possibility becomes fully conceivable only 
 through, the mediation of an Eternal Conscious- 
 ness in whose nature and whose knowledge we 
 (just because we are capable of a mode of insight 
 transcending the temporal and contingent flux of 
 sense- presentations) somehow participate. Cud- 
 worth seems to me to be clear and to be elusive 
 upon substantially the same points. "Human 
 knowledge and understanding itself," he says (re- 
 suming the epistemological reasoning cited earlier
 
 ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY 293 
 
 in this paper), "is not the mere image and creature 
 of singular bodies only; and so derivative and 
 ectypal from them and in order of nature junior to 
 them, but, as it were, hovering aloft over the cor- 
 poreal universe, it is a thing independent upon sin- 
 ular bodies, or proleptical to them, and in order of 
 nature before them. But what account can we 
 then possibly give of knowledge and understand- 
 ing, their nature and original ? since there must be 
 vot]t6v, that which is intelligible, in order of nature 
 before i/6r)cn<;, or intellection. Certainly, no other 
 than this, that the first original of knowledge is that 
 of a perfect being, comprehending . . . the possibil- 
 ities of all things; their ideas with their several re- 
 lations to one another; all necessary and immutable 
 truths. Here, therefore, is a knowledge before the 
 world and all sensible things, that was archetypal 
 and paradigmatical to the same. Of which one 
 perfect mind and knowledge all other imperfect 
 minds (being derived from it), have a certain parti- 
 cipation.'' ^ "It is evident that there can be but 
 one only original mind, or no more than one un- 
 derstanding being self-existent; all other minds 
 whatsoever partaking of one original mind; and 
 being, as it were, stamped with the impression or 
 signature of one and the same seal. From whence 
 it Cometh to pass that all minds, in the several 
 places and ages of the world, have ideas or notions 
 of things exactly alike, and truths indivisibly the 
 same. Truths are not multiplied by the diversity of 
 
 ' Cudworth, op. cit., p. 406.
 
 294 KANT AND THE PLATONISTS 
 
 the minds that apprehend them; because they are 
 all but ectypal participations of one and the same 
 original mind and truth. As the same face may be 
 reflected in several glasses ; and the image of the 
 same sun may be in a thousand eyes at once behold- 
 ing it; and one and the same voice may be in a 
 thousand ears listening to it ; so when innumerable 
 created minds have the same ideas of things, and 
 understand the same truths, it is but one and the 
 same eternal light that is reflected in them all 
 (' that light which enlighteneth every man that com- 
 eth into the world') ; or the same voice of that one 
 everlasting Word, that is never silent, re- echoed by 
 them. . . . We conclude therefore that from the 
 nature of mind and knowledge it is demonstrable 
 that there can be but one original and self-existent 
 mind, or understanding being, from which all other 
 minds were derived." ^ 
 
 Recurrent, similarly, in the writings of the Cam- 
 bridge school is the observation that this ultimate 
 Knower, this archetypal and perfect Mind, must 
 transcend the ordinary duahty of thought and 
 thing, must be at once subject and object of thought, 
 by existing for itself as its own object. This prin- 
 ciple of Platonistic theology, which goes back to 
 Plotinus, if not, indeed, to Aristotle, is, as everyone 
 knows, another of the commonplaces of the philoso- 
 phy of those recent English schools whose lineage 
 is usually traced through Hegel back to Kant. 
 
 * Cudworth, op. cit., pp. 415, 416.
 
 ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY 295 
 
 2. In the second part of a remarkable early 
 work of Professor Royce's, " The Religious Aspect 
 of Philosophy," there is set forth an interesting 
 variant of the general neo-Kantian or epistemo- 
 logical type of argument for the existence of God. 
 This argument undertakes to show that the very 
 admission of the distinction between truth and 
 error in judgments — an admission to which even 
 the most determined sceptic stands committed — 
 directly implies the aflBrmation of the existence of 
 an objective and eternal standard of truth to which 
 all judgments by their very nature aim to conform ; 
 and that this standard can be inteUigibly conceived 
 only if it be represented as an all-knowing and 
 eternal Mind, which possesses and perfectly ap- 
 prehends at once the judgment and the "reahty,'* 
 or the truth at which the judgment aims. The 
 skeleton of an epistemological argument for theism 
 which assuredly belongs to the same genus, though 
 it is far removed from the dialectical subtlety and 
 the felicitous expression of Professor Royce's rea- 
 soning, is to be found in John Norris's "Meta- 
 physical Essay towards the Demonstration of a 
 God from the steady and immutable Nature of 
 Truth "^ (1687). To Norris himself his hne of 
 argument seemed an essentially new mode of proof. 
 "Whether," he writes, "this procedure of mine be 
 entirely new or no, 't is not possible (without ex- 
 amining all the books in the world) absolutely to 
 
 ' Contained in Norris's " Collection of Miscellanies, " edition of 1717, pp. 
 144-152.
 
 296 KANT AND THE PLATONISTS 
 
 determine. This much I believe I may venture to 
 say, that *t is nowhere universally received, nor 
 by any that I know of, industriously and profess- 
 edly managed ; and that, lastly, 't is as new as the 
 matter will now afford, and consequently as any 
 man in reason ought to expect." The argument, 
 somewhat condensed, runs thus: Knowledge is 
 "truth of the subject," and presupposes "truth of 
 the object"; without the latter "there can be no 
 such thing as knowledge." Now, truth of the ob- 
 ject, in the sense in which it is here used, consists 
 in "certain habitudes or relations of things towards 
 one another, whether affirmatively or negatively.' 
 Of these relations, "some are steady, immutable 
 that never were made by any understanding or will 
 nor can ever be unmade or nuU'd by them. . . 
 Now, 't is a proposition of necessary and eternal 
 truth, that there must be ever such a thing as truth 
 or that something must be true; for let it be af 
 firmed or denied, truth thrusts in upon us either 
 way. And so, secondly, there are many particular 
 propositions of eternal and unchangeable verity, 
 as in Logic, . . . Physics, . . . Metaphysics, . . . 
 Mathematics. . . . These and such like are stand- 
 ing and irrepealable truths, . . . and such as all 
 intellectual operations do not make but presup- 
 pose ; it being as much against the nature of under- 
 standing to make that truth which it speculates, 
 as 't is against the nature of the eye to create that 
 light by which it sees." Now since the simple es-
 
 ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY 297 
 
 sences to which these eternal relations belong must, 
 accordingly, somewhere and somehow exist, and in 
 a corresponding eternal manner, and since they 
 can be seen not to do so "in their natural subsist- 
 ences, it follows that they must be eternal in their 
 ideal subsistences or reaUties. For there are but 
 two conceivable ways how anything may be sup- 
 posed to subsist, either naturally or ideally, either 
 out of all understanding or within some under- 
 standing." So, "if the simple essences of things 
 do exist eternally, but not out of all understand- 
 ing, it remains that they must have their existence in 
 some understanding. Without which, indeed, it is 
 not possible to conceive how they should have any 
 such existence." It follows, then, "that there is a 
 mind or understanding eternally existing which is 
 omniscient and . . . universally representative of 
 all other beings" — which "can be no other than 
 that eternal mind which we call God." Norris in 
 concluding offers a distinction whereby he may 
 obviate a certain difficulty in this reasoning — one 
 that, as the ingenious reader will easily remark, at- 
 taches, in a shghtly different form to more modern 
 versions of the argument. "Whereas in the third 
 section [of Norris's essay] it was asserted that the 
 nature of truth is steady and immutable, and such 
 as has no precarious existence or arbitrarious de- 
 pendence upon any understanding whatever; and 
 yet in the fifth section 't is affirmed that it owes its 
 existence to some mind or other; lest one part of
 
 298 KANT AND THE PLATONISTS 
 
 this meditation be thought to clash against an- 
 other, I thought it requisite to adjust this seem- 
 ing contradiction. For the clearing of which we 
 must be beholding to that distinction of a Platonic 
 author, of the divine mind into vov? vo€p6<; and 
 pov<s vo7]t6s, conceptive and exhibitive. Truth does 
 by no means depend upon any mind as conceptive, 
 whether human or divine, but is supposed by it. 
 But upon mind as exhibitive it may and does ulti- 
 mately depend ; so that if there were no God of eter- 
 nal mind, there could be no truth.'* 
 
 Imperfectly worked out though this argument 
 of Norris's is, limited as it is by its Platonic ante- 
 cedents, it seems to me palpably to contain the ger- 
 minal principle of the reasoning which Professor 
 Royce has summed up in these words : "All reality 
 must be present to the Unity of the Infinite 
 Thought. For all reality is reality because true 
 judgments can be made about it. And all reality, 
 for the same reason, can be the object of false 
 judgments. Therefore ... all things actual and 
 possible exist as they exist and are known for 
 what they are, in and to the absolute thought." 
 For this "Infinite Actuality is absolutely neces- 
 sary to constitute the relation of truth and error. 
 Without it there is no truth or error possible. . . . 
 Our thought needs the Infinite Thought in order 
 that it may get, through this infinite judge, the 
 privilege of being so much as even an error." ^ 
 
 * Royce, " The Religious Aspect of Philosophy," 1897, pp. 433, 427.
 
 ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY 299 
 
 The broadest difference between the earher and the 
 contemporary dialectician is that the former (ex- 
 cept in his sweeping final sentence) limits his 
 argument to establishing the necessity of the pres- 
 ence of the eternal truths to the Divine Mind. 
 But this was only because he failed to see (what 
 a Platonist, of all men, might be expected to 
 insist upon) that the truth of all propositions, 
 contingent and empirical as well as "eternal" 
 and axiomatic ones, may be regarded as an eter- 
 nal or non- temporal reality, though the matters 
 referred to by the former sort of propositions be 
 not so. 
 
 3. In Collier's " A Specimen of True Philosophy " 
 (1730) one finds a surprisingly neat summary of 
 the post- Kantian argument for absolute or mon- 
 istic idealism, and at the same time an example of 
 the eventual transformation of the Absolute of such 
 idealism into an essentially incomprehensible type 
 of entity, in which the relations and distinctions 
 characteristic of human, discursive thinking are 
 "transmuted" into something, one knows not what. 
 It is because of the latter trait of his ontology 
 that I have likened Collier to Mr. Bradley.^ The 
 passage is as follows: "When I here affirm on 
 the foundation of what I have elsewhere proved, 
 that the visible or material world, which I, for 
 instance, see, exists in me, or in my particular 
 mind, I mean only to say that my mind is the im- 
 
 • "A Specimen of True Philosophy," repiinted in Parr's "Metaphysical 
 Tracts," pp. 116-1:^1.
 
 300 KANT AND THE PLATONISTS 
 
 mediate *^PX1 or substance of the object perceived ; 
 or that the visible world which I see exists immedi- 
 ately in my particular soul. And, therefore, where 
 it is said that heaven and earth, or the said visible 
 world, exists in the Son of God, the meaning can 
 be no other than this, that the said visible world 
 exists mediately or ultimately in the same divine 
 Person ; which is the same again, as if it had been 
 said that, as the visible world exists immediately 
 in any human or created mind, so the said mind 
 itself exists immediately in the Son of God. . . . 
 Here, then, we have a true picture given us of all 
 creaturely existence ; that it is not existence simply, 
 but only inexistence. ... A creature, as such, is 
 not capable of being made, that is, simply of exist- 
 ing, but only of inexisting. ... In a word, we have 
 seen that the world or species of matter exists in the 
 world or species called mind or spirit ; and that this 
 last exists in a third, as essentially different from 
 the last as it is from the first ; notwithstanding that 
 he has condescended to be called our brother." 
 But "the nearer any being or substance stands 
 related by inexistence to the first substance of all, 
 the 'Apx^? of the whole creation, so much the more 
 perfect or excellent it is." Thus the human mind 
 is more nearly representative of the Absolute Re- 
 ality in which it is included than is the material 
 universe, which is included wholly in mind or 
 conscious experience; but the Absolute and all- 
 inclusive whole cannot be supposed to have the
 
 ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY 301 
 
 distinguishing peculiarities and limitations of a 
 finite and discursive mind. 
 
 One might go far before finding a better summary 
 than is prophetically given in this writing of 1730, 
 of the outlines and main vicissitudes of the whole 
 history of post- Kantian idealism. Here is the a 
 fortiori inference from the necessity of conceiving 
 all objects of experience as subsisting in, and as 
 determined by, the synthetic unity of the individual 
 human mind, to the necessity of conceiving all 
 minds and their contents as correspondingly in- 
 cluded in the unity of one Universal Mind; here 
 is the effort to discriminate within this scheme 
 comparative "degrees of truth and reality"; and 
 here, not less, is the fatal tendency of this sort of 
 epistemological idealistic monism to evanescence 
 into an ultimate metaphysical scepticism, to an 
 hypostasis of an essentially unknowable sub- 
 stance; to, in short, the "disappearance of reality.'* 
 Collier gives in a few words a proleptic outline sketch 
 of the future development of this entire type of phil- 
 osophical tendency among the successors of Kant; 
 he also gives us what is perhaps a warning hint of 
 its ultimate and unhappy historic destiny. 
 
 In general, however, what one finds, on compar- 
 ing Kant and his successors with these earlier spec- 
 ulators, is not identity of doctrine, but the sort of 
 resemblance which an ancestor might be expected 
 to bear to a descendant. It would perhaps be too 
 much to call these English Platonists Kantians;
 
 302 KA^NT AND THE PLATONISTS 
 
 but it is quite accurate to call Kant the con- 
 tinuer of the modern Platonic tradition of which 
 these English philosophers were the Early Fathers. 
 It will appear to some no great demerit in these 
 seventeenth-century thinkers that they plainly ex- 
 hibit, and even proudly acknowledge, their own 
 intellectual ancestry. Kant, on the contrary, 
 usually has very much the air of a philosophical 
 nouveau riche, of a self-made theorist. In reality, 
 his originality consists chiefly in the conjunction 
 in his theoretical philosophy of two tendencies 
 previously separate; both of these had been con- 
 spicuously (though not exclusively) represented 
 before his time in British epistemology and meta- 
 physics. In his "Copernican revolution," his 
 "transcendental'* idealism, his apriorism, he is 
 merely the elaborator and systematizer of the 
 general doctrine of the English Platonists ; in his 
 sceptical attitude towards that which "transcends 
 possible experience" and in his feeling that the 
 first task of philosophy is to set bounds to the 
 aspirations of human knowledge, he is the disciple 
 of Locke and Hume. The work of his own fol- 
 lowers has largely consisted in striking out the 
 second of these two elements in his system, and 
 in developing out of the first conclusions of a type 
 long since familiar to the earlier and English 
 representatives of rationalistic idealism.
 
 A CRITIQUE OF KANT'S ETHICS
 
 A CRITIQUE OF KANT'S ETHICS' 
 
 Bt Feldc Adler 
 
 In the preface to the second edition of the *' Kritik 
 of Pure Reason" Kant says: "It behooved me to 
 destroy knowledge (that is, the presumed knowl- 
 edge of transcendental truths) in order to make 
 way for behef." His moral behef was founded on 
 his ethical theory. This theory it is the purpose 
 of my paper to subject to criticism. 
 
 The task of honest criticism is difficult. The 
 popular adage tells us that it is hard to see our- 
 selves as others see us. It is no less hard to see an- 
 other in the manner in which he sees himself, to 
 enter into his mental world, to put one's self men- 
 tally in his place, to see the objects of his thought 
 in the same illumination in which they present 
 themselves to his inner eye. Yet, without thus 
 stripping off one's own personality, as it were, with- 
 out some such preliminary act of self-renunciation, 
 
 ' The author of this contribution found to his especial regret that his 
 engagements forbade his preparing a pajjer expressly for the present volume. 
 Desiring however to share in the expression of the feeling it embodies he 
 welcomed the Editors' suggestion that he should reprint for the first time 
 (without revision), and house permanently here a paper contributed to 
 Mind, N. B., Vol. XI, No. 42, p. 162. Acknowledgments are due to 
 The Mind Association for their consent to its republication. — Eds. 
 
 20 805
 
 306 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 without a willingness to learn from another, nay, 
 almost, for the time being, to become that other, 
 the business of the critic is hopeless from the first. 
 Nor ought these remarks to appear superfluous to 
 anyone who remembers the fate encountered by 
 the Kantian philosophy at the hands of many of 
 his interpreters. The greatness of this extraor- 
 dinary thinker has indeed been acknowledged by 
 all. But, after some preliminary tributes to his 
 genius, the attempt has often been made to over- 
 throw his credit by triumphantly refuting opinions 
 which he never held, and to expound his system, 
 not in the light of doctrines which he himself taught, 
 and for which he was willing to stand sponsor, but 
 according to what, in the opinion of his expositors, 
 he ought to have taught, or would have if he had as 
 clearly known his own mind as they professed to 
 know it, or if he had foreseen the implications of 
 his thought which they, his successors, had suc- 
 ceeded in explicating. In this way it has come 
 about that some of the most authoritative accounts 
 of the Kantian philosophy in the English language 
 are so infiltrated with the elements of those later 
 systems, which Kant himself did not know and 
 which in their first beginnings he repudiated, that 
 his actual teachings in the minds of many have 
 become obscured, and a kind of bastard Kantianism 
 has come into vogue, reminding one of the spurious 
 Aristotelianism that was current in the schools of 
 the Middle Ages.
 
 FELIX ADLER 307 
 
 I mention these facts at the outset as a warning 
 intended not so much for my readers as for myself. 
 I, too, am about to undertake the hazardous task 
 of criticism. It is well to remind one's self of the 
 pitfalls that beset such an undertaking. 
 
 To criticise, one must understand. To under- 
 stand, one must sympathize, nay, one ought, in the 
 first instance, to forget criticism and be willing to 
 take the humble attitude of a learner. The entire 
 ethical system of Kant depends on the idea of free- 
 dom — not on freedom itself, but on the idea of 
 freedom. What meaning does he attach to this 
 idea ? How does it originate ? How does he seek 
 to legitimate it ? How does he endeavor to recon- 
 cile it with the idea of necessity ? These questions 
 we shall now take up. 
 
 The passages which it concerns us to study and 
 to keep before us in their ensemble^ as each in some 
 degree supplements the others, are : the chapter on 
 Freedom in the *' Kritik of the Pure Reason," the 
 corresponding chapter in the " Kritik of the Prac- 
 tical Reason," a chapter on this subject in the 
 *' Prolegomena," and, in addition, the observations 
 contained in Kant's *' Philosophical Diary," edited 
 by Erdmann, and published in 1884: "Observa- 
 tions on Freedom," numbers 1511 to 1552 inclu- 
 sive. I shall make the attempt to state the main 
 points of Kant's argument in a series of propositions. 
 
 First, a distinction is to be drawn between the 
 fact of experience, the inference from this fact.
 
 308 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 and the argument designed to furnish a metaphys- 
 ical basis for this inference. The fact of experi- 
 ence is the occurrence in us of judgments implying 
 absolute obhgation. I ought to act in such and 
 such a way, irrespective of my inchnations, and 
 even contrary to them, without regard to the force 
 of obstructive habits, heredity, education, environ- 
 ment, etc. ; something it is absolutely right for me 
 to do. A merely hypothetical judgment affirms 
 that certain means ought to be adopted in case I 
 desire the end. A categorical judgment affirms the 
 existence of an end which I am not at liberty to 
 choose or reject at my good pleasure, but am under 
 obligation to choose. In every other case the word 
 "ought" refers to the means. In the case of moral 
 obligation the word "ought" refers to the end 
 itself as well as to the means. This fact of experi- 
 ence constitutes the starting-point of the Kantian 
 ethics. If we dispute this fact, we part company 
 from him ab initio. Let us, however, hold in abey- 
 ance any objections that may arise in our minds 
 and pursue the argument further. 
 
 The starting-point, then, is the fact, real or as- 
 sumed, of unconditional obhgation. The infer- 
 ence from the fact is what Kant calls practical 
 freedom. Because "thou oughtest," therefore 
 "thou canst." It is of the utmost moment to re- 
 member that the freedom of the will, according 
 to Kant, is not a matter of experience. Moral 
 freedom is not for an instant to be confounded
 
 FELIX ADLER 309 
 
 with psychological freedom, the faculty of dehb- 
 eration or suspended judgment, or the conscious- 
 ness of self-determination. Freedom, according 
 to Kant, cannot be proved to occur in conscious- 
 ness at all. It is not itself a fact of experience, 
 but an inference from such a fact. The fact itself 
 is the judgment "thou oughtest." The inference 
 is "thou canst," "thou art free." 
 
 In the next place, practical freedom requires for 
 its speculative basis transcendental freedom. If 
 we are, on moral grounds and for purely moral 
 purposes, to regard ourselves as free agents we 
 must be able to justify the idea of freedom in its 
 own right ; we must be able to show, at least, that 
 no self-contradiction is involved in assuming it, 
 and especially that it may be held without infringe 
 ing upon the law of universal causality, which is 
 the foundation of science. Moral liberty may im- 
 ply affirmations which transcend the domain of 
 science. It must not, however, come into conflict 
 with science in its own field. If we are to accept 
 the doctrine of freedom at all it must be possible 
 to define freedom and necessity in such a way that 
 both may be held conjointly. 
 
 It will be of assistance to us, at this point, to 
 recall the decisive contrast in method which 
 marks off from one another Kant and his idealistic 
 successors. The latter started from the metaphys- 
 ical side in order to construe the world of experi- 
 ence. Kant always sets out from the empirical
 
 310 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 side and his metaphysics consists of a series of 
 fundamental principles intended to establish the 
 laws of experience on a secure foundation. The 
 whole of the "Kritik" is orientated toward the 
 exact sciences. The phrase "the possibility of ex- 
 perience," of constant recurrence throughout the 
 "KJritik," means nothing but the possibihty of exact 
 scientific knowledge. What seem to the superficial 
 reader mere metaphysical entities, leading an in- 
 dependent existence in the thin upper air of specu- 
 lation — I mean the chorus of a priorisy with the 
 unity of self-consciousness as their Apollo at their 
 head, turn out on closer acquaintance to be the 
 very Lares and Penates of the scientific household, 
 the famihar genii to which every serious investi- 
 gator pays homage on entering his study or his 
 laboratory. It would doubtless tend to facilitate 
 the understanding of Kant's thought and to strip 
 it of the air of foreignness which is produced by 
 a somewhat pedantic terminology, if the student 
 would always bear in mind the concrete scientific 
 problems, with reference to which the discussions in 
 the "Kritik" are carried on, but which the author, 
 as a rule, does not distinctly mention, in order that 
 the purely abstract character of his argument may 
 be preserved. Thus, for instance, the Transcenden- 
 tal ^Esthetic deals with the T and S of mechanical 
 physics, not with the psychological notions of time 
 and space, nor with their genesis. The chapter 
 on the Axioms of Intuition is concerned with the
 
 FELIX ADLER 311 
 
 application of pure mathematics in its complete 
 precision to the objects of experience. The Antici- 
 pation of Perception is concerned with the funda- 
 mental principle that underlies the conception 
 and the measurement of force. In the discussion 
 of Causality and of Reciprocity or Community it 
 is Newton's laws of motion which the argument 
 keeps in view.^ In the chapter on the Postulates of 
 Empirical Thinking we are invited to clarify our 
 thought with respect to the scope and hmitations 
 of scientific hypotheses. Even when we pass be- 
 yond the borders of the Analytic and discuss the 
 ideas of the reason, we have not escaped from the 
 territory of the exact sciences. The idea of God, 
 for instance, in the "Kritik" is justified on the 
 ground of its scientific usefulness. It is intended, 
 though capable of being charged later on with a 
 richer meaning, to promote the process of induc- 
 tion so that it may confidently be pushed to its 
 farthest possible hmits. The ideas of the homoge- 
 neity, the specification and the affinity of nature are 
 gathered together, as it were, in a kind of mental 
 symbol, with the ens realissimum, or God, as their 
 substratum. We are asked to look upon nature as if 
 it were the work of a rational being, not because 
 we have the right to afiirm the existence of such a 
 being, but that we may the better succeed in discov- 
 ering such rational connections in nature as actu- 
 ally subsist. We are asked to regard it as a coherent 
 
 * See Hennann Cohen's " Kants Theorie der Erfahrung."
 
 312 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 whole in order that we may make our interpretation 
 of it as coherent as possible. 
 
 The T and S of mechanical physics, Newton's 
 laws of motion, the scope of scientific hypotheses, 
 the assumptions that underlie the process of induc- 
 tion, these and such as these, and the problems 
 which they involve are the subjects with which the 
 *' Kritik " is concerned. If Kant had entitled his 
 book "A Philosophical Inquiry into the Funda- 
 mental Principles of the Exact Sciences," such a 
 title would have covered the positive side of the 
 " Kritik," and possibly might have served to pre- 
 vent much subsequent misinterpretation. 
 
 Kant — let us hold fast to this one thought — 
 intends by his entire system to account for the 
 element of certainty in experience. He distinguishes 
 between knowledge, loosely so called, and knowl- 
 edge in the strict sense, between perceptive judg- 
 ments and judgments of experience or scientific 
 judgments. He asks. Whence the difference ? Or, 
 to put it in another way, it is the distinction between 
 the expectation of future happenings, founded on 
 previous association, and the prediction of future 
 happenings, founded on scientific certainty, that 
 constitutes the pivot on which the ** KJritik of Pure 
 Reason" hinges. Does scientific prediction merely 
 differ in degree from that expectation which is 
 encouraged by habitual sequence ? Is the differ- 
 ence one merely of degree.^ Kant asserts that it 
 is a difference in kind. There are a prioris in a
 
 FELIX ADLER 313 
 
 certain part of our knowledge, and this part he 
 calls experience. And what are these a prioris ? 
 They are the factors of certainty. The substitu- 
 tion of the term "factors of certainty" for the 
 term a priori might be a gain. The term a priori 
 suggests independent existence which Kant, far 
 from asserting, constantly and strenuously denies. 
 It suggests a pretended insight into the aboriginal 
 constitution of the mind, into the germinal prin- 
 ciples out of which intelligence has developed. 
 And this claim of pretended insight, I take it, was 
 equally foreign to Kant's conception. At any rate, 
 the vahdity of his theory of knowledge does not 
 depend on the admittance of any such claim. The 
 term a priori suggests chronological antecedence 
 and, in this respect, it is particularly misleading. 
 The Kantian a priori is discovered not in its origin, 
 but in its operation. The a priori in the Kantian 
 sense may be synchronous with its product, may 
 be born at the very moment when it yields its first 
 effect. If a new science were to arise, containing 
 some new element of certainty heretofore unmani- 
 fested, we should be compelled to formulate a new 
 variety of the so-called a priori, and we should be 
 justified by the spirit, if not by the letter, of Kant's 
 teachings in so doing. The doctrine of the a priori^ 
 often confused as it is with the doctrine of innate 
 ideas and of intuition, is really as unlike these doc- 
 trines as it is possible to be. The thinker of the 
 Kantian type does not attempt to discover a men-
 
 314 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 tal content which is common to the Fiji Islander 
 and to Lord Kelvin, does not attempt to acquaint 
 us with an a priori which consoled the cave man 
 in his moments of meditation. Nor does he speak 
 of truths which are apprehended in a flash of intui- 
 tion, apart from experience. The thinker who 
 follows along the Kantian lines lies in wait, watch- 
 ing how the human mind behaves when it exer- 
 cises its powers. He observes how the mind reveals 
 itself in the exercise of its powers, and these mo- 
 ments of self-revelation he fixes on his philosophic 
 camera. He watches to see what harvest of assured 
 knowledge the soil of the human mind produces 
 under the rarest and most favorable conditions, 
 and from this crop he makes his inference as to 
 the seed. But as to the origin of the seed itself, 
 as to how it came to be planted in the human 
 mind, — into such questions as these he forbears 
 to inquire, and the whole question of genetic de- 
 velopment he leaves to the psychologist, to deal 
 with as he may see fit. 
 
 I have said that Kant traverses the field of ex- 
 perience and that wherever he finds an element 
 of certainty he raises the question as to the factor 
 which produces it. And this brings us back, after 
 a somewhat lengthy but, I trust, not irrelevant 
 digression, to the subject in hand. In the realm 
 of ethics, too, he lights upon an element of certainty, 
 namely, that which is implied in the Categorical 
 Imperative, in the idea that there are lines of con-
 
 FELIX ADLER 315 
 
 duct which ought to be followed at all times and 
 by all persons. There is, indeed, a capital differ- 
 ence between the certainties of science and those 
 of ethics. The former are verified in experience 
 while the latter are not capable of such verification. 
 It cannot be proved, Kant tells us, that a single 
 human being has ever obeyed the Categorical Im- 
 perative, that a single human being has ever pur- 
 sued the line of conduct which yet he must admit 
 to be universally binding. There is a gap between 
 assent and performance of which it cannot be 
 shown that it has been filled, even in a single in- 
 stance. In ethics, therefore, we do not deal with 
 any demonstrable lawfulness or certainty of con- 
 duct, but with the idea of such certainty, of such 
 lawfulness, and it is the task of ethical philosophy, 
 according to Kant, to account for this idea. 
 
 To repeat what was said above — *' thou ought- 
 est, therefore thou canst," is the starting-point. 
 To say "thou canst" is to assert practical free- 
 dom; but practical freedom presupposes tran- 
 scendental freedom. To an examination of the 
 latter we shall now pass on. Transcendental fre- 
 dom is, putting the gist of Kant's thought into a 
 single sentence, the timeless origination of effects 
 that appear in time. In Observation 1543 (Kant's 
 *' Reflexionen ") we read : '' Transcendental freedom 
 (of any substance whatsoever) is absolute spon- 
 taneity in action. Practical freedom is the faculty 
 of acting on the sole impetus of reason." Obser-
 
 316 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 vation 1541: "Freedom is the independence of 
 causality from the conditions of space and time," 
 — the causahty of a thing regarded as a thing per se. 
 Observation 1533 : " Freedom is the faculty of a 
 cause to determine itself to action, untrammelled 
 by sense conditions." Observation 1545: "We 
 cannot demonstrate freedom a 'posteriori. . . . 
 We cannot cognize the possibility of freedom a 
 priori, for the possibility of an original ground of 
 action, which is not determined by some other, is 
 wholly inconceivable. Hence, we cannot theo- 
 retically prove freedom at all, but only demonstrate 
 it as a necessary practical hypothesis." The gist 
 of these quotations may be put as follows : Tran- 
 scendental freedom is the pure self-activity of 
 reason, or the application to one substance of a 
 general notion which, in the case of transcendental 
 freedom, embraces all substances. Freedom is 
 inexphcable and inconceivable. We cannot prove 
 its actuahty nor even its possibihty. For, what is 
 meant by an act of spontaneous volition or by a 
 substance which, without any determining influ- 
 ence from beyond its sphere, produces the motives 
 upon which it acts, we are incapable of understand- 
 ing. The idea of freedom takes us outside the 
 phenomenal world into the region of things per se, 
 or of noumena. Freedom, be it distinctly noted, 
 is vested in the noumena. What is called psycho- 
 logical freedom is a transparent piece of self-decep- 
 tion. Self-determination, which has sometimes been
 
 FELIX ADLER 317 
 
 presented as a substitute for freedom, — namely, 
 the fact that, after our character has been formed 
 by heredity, education, environment, in short, by the 
 confluence of innumerable extraneous influences, 
 we then act along the Unes of this, our character — 
 such self-determination Kant dismisses with a single 
 word of infinite contempt. "The freedom of a 
 mechanical turnspit" he calls it. No; genuine 
 freedom he demands, self-activity of the reason 
 — a very different thing from self-determination — 
 the rational substance in us acting on its own 
 motion, causing to emerge of its own accord the 
 commanding motives that ought to sway our will. 
 But this freedom, he tells us, occurs behind the 
 scenes. We have no consciousness of it, at least, 
 not any that we can build on. There is an actor 
 in us who never takes off his mask, who never 
 appears on the stage, and of whom, nevertheless, 
 we are to assume that he exists because of certain 
 effects which he produces, from behind, or from 
 within; in short, from the region of the unseen. 
 This actor is our noumenon. Freedom is vested 
 in the noumenon ; our freedom is in our noumenon. 
 But, in this connection, it becomes indispensable 
 to pause and to consider to what we should be com- 
 mitting ourselves if we were to go along with Kant 
 in assuming noumena in general and the noumenon 
 of man in particular, more especially as the de- 
 gree of reahty which belongs to freedom depends 
 on the reaUty ascribed to the noumenon of which
 
 318 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 freedom is a function. Now does Kant say that 
 things fer se exist? Not at all. He says they 
 must be assumed to exist. The distinction is 
 sharp. At first blush, it looks as if, in contrast 
 to phenomena, which convey merely the appear- 
 ance of reality, the things per se were designed to 
 satisfy our craving for the ultimately real. The 
 world of phenomena is the world of seeming ; that 
 of noumena the world of truth. But, in a certain 
 sense, the direct opposite is unquestionably Kant's 
 meaning. The world of phenomena is for us — 
 and, of course, only for us — the world of objec- 
 tive reality. By no other means, according to 
 Kant, can we attain to the knowledge of reality 
 except by subjecting the data of sensation to the 
 synthetic processes of the understanding. Sense 
 data, thus synthetized, he calls objects. They 
 exist. The solar system exists. The fall of a stone 
 is an actual occurrence. The things per se do not 
 exist. They are only assumed to exist. Accord- 
 ing to Kant, the separate rings in the chain of ex- 
 perience and the interconnection of link with link, 
 are real. But the whole chain is not a reality. The 
 notion that the chain can be carried back end- 
 lessly, or that it is suspended somewhere, from 
 an aboriginal pier or support, does not correspond 
 to reality. Such a thing as a universe does not 
 exist, except only in idea. 
 
 If this be the case, if noumena do not exist, but 
 are only assumed to exist, what profit is there in
 
 FELIX ADLER 319 
 
 assuming them ? They have such value as belongs 
 to concepts of hmit. Negatively, they serve to warn 
 us that our interpretation of things is not the only 
 possible one, not the final one. We, indeed, can 
 know no other; but we can know that there may 
 be. must be, others. With the sort of material to 
 which we are restricted, namely, the data of sen- 
 sation, with the sort of mental tools with which 
 we must work, namely, the synthetic processes of 
 the understanding, Kant tells us we may never 
 hope to complete the chain of knowledge. Not 
 only have we not succeeded thus far, but, in the 
 nature of the case, the prospect of complete success 
 is excluded. But in addition, the noumena have 
 certain positive values. They are "dukes of the 
 marches," stationed on the frontier of the king- 
 dom of science to defend it against the incursions 
 of supernaturahsm and to extend it without as- 
 signable limit, under the stimulus of the idea of 
 totality which, though incapable of realization, 
 is indispensable as a provocative of effort. And, 
 in addition, there are two noumena, the noume- 
 non of God, and the noumenon of man which, in 
 the field of morality and religion, acquire the high- 
 est kind of positive, practical value, this value 
 consisting in their being the assumed centres of 
 self- activity, the assumed fountain-heads of that 
 freedom which, in virtue of the Categorical Im- 
 perative, according to Kant, we are compelled to 
 postulate. Does this ethical value make them any
 
 820 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 the more real? If we keep within the bounds of 
 Kant's thought, I think we must answer in the 
 negative. We must assume that the noumenon of 
 man, for instance, the centre of his self- activity, 
 exists. We are bound to act as if it existed, but we 
 do not know that it exists, and we cannot say 
 it does exist, as we say that hght exists ; we cannot 
 say that self-activity operates, as we say that the 
 forces of nature operate. 
 
 So far off, so impalpable, so, in a certain sense, 
 unreal is this rational noumenon, so little does it 
 enter into competition with the things whereof we 
 know. A high, subtle, abstract, inconceivable, 
 though not therefore unthinkable, somewhat ! We 
 are bound to act as if it existed. This is the whole 
 outcome. Whatever certainty belongs to it is in 
 the nature of moral certainty. Whatever life-blood 
 of reality it possesses it borrows from its uses. It 
 is not the ultimate reality. It is an X that stands 
 for the ultimately real. Yet, even to go as far as 
 this, even to admit the noumenon into our scheme 
 of thought at all, as an indispensable auxiliary of 
 moral effort, we are obliged to show, unless our 
 mental household is to be hopelessly divided against 
 itself, that self-activity and mechanical causality 
 can subsist together, that they do not clash, that 
 the order of nature and the order of freedom may 
 obtain in the self- same act. 
 
 Let us review, for a moment, the steps we have 
 taken. Unconditional obligation, the one sure fact
 
 FELIX ADLER 321 
 
 and the starting-point. Practical freedom the in- 
 ference. Transcendental freedom, the presupposi- 
 tion of the latter. Freedom, wholly ruled out as a 
 matter of experience, lodged in the noumenon. 
 This noumenon, this, our transcendental substance, 
 the timeless originator of effects in time, incapable 
 of being proved to exist, but only assumed to do so. 
 Yet the freedom which is thus assumed, inconceiv- 
 able and inexplicable as it may be, must, at least, 
 be shown to be not incompatible with natural caus- 
 ality. To the task of showing this Kant addresses 
 himself in the famous chapter of the "Kritik," 
 which, as has been said, should be taken in con- 
 junction with his statements in the "Prolegomena," 
 in the "K. P. R." and in the "Reflexions." He is 
 aware of the diflficulties of his task and wrestles 
 painfully both with his thought and with the expres- 
 sion of it. I myself do not beheve that he has 
 succeeded in solving his problem ; but I have been 
 chiefly concerned, thus far, in my interpretation, 
 to make clear the auxiliary nature of his metaphys- 
 ical concepts, and I trust I have shown that they 
 are quite devoid of that transcendent or mystical 
 meaning with which some believe them to be fraught. 
 In commenting on the subject which w^e now take up, 
 my principal concern, before I attempt to criticise at 
 all, will still be the same, to arrive at Kant's exact 
 meaning as far as possible, and to demonstrate that 
 it is far less charged with positive metaphysical affir- 
 mation than a cursory reading might suggest. 
 
 21
 
 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 Others have said: determinism or freedom. 
 Kant says : determinism and freedom. The line 
 of his argument is a straight and narrow way, as 
 narrow as a razor's edge. It is easy to miss his 
 drift, as the example of famous expounders suffi- 
 ciently attests. And yet, we have here reached the 
 critical point of Kant's ethics, and should we fail 
 to obtain hght here, we shall have to grope in dark- 
 ness through all the remainder of our journey. 
 The key- thoughts which express the terms on which 
 the reconciliation between freedom and necessity 
 is attempted to be effected are the following : 
 
 (a) If the objects of nature were things per se 
 there could only be a single law apphcable to them. 
 Since they are appearances there is room for a 
 double law, the law of natural causahty applying 
 to the appearances, and the law of causahty through 
 freedom applying to the things to which these 
 appearances correspond. 
 
 (6) Freedom is the timeless origination of effects 
 in time. The cause is noumenal; the effect phe- 
 nomenal. This relation is possible because caus- 
 ality is a dynamic relation, and the cause may 
 therefore dijfer in hind from the effect. 
 
 (c) The law of freedom is compatible with the 
 law of mechanical causality because freedom is a 
 " cosmological idea," that is to say, because the 
 notion underlying it is the same as that which 
 underhes mechanical causality, only in the former 
 case expanded, magnified, raised to the power of
 
 FELIX ABLER 323 
 
 the infinite. The common notion is that of con- 
 stancy and necessity. In the case of phenomena, 
 that which happens constantly and necessarily — 
 namely, the invariable occurrence of certain con- 
 sequents after certain antecedents — is condi- 
 tioned upon similar dependable relations existing 
 between a series of preceding antecedents and 
 consequents. The mind, however, unable to pur- 
 sue this chase to the finish, fashions for itself the 
 idea of an unconditional necessity and constancy, 
 that is, of something which happens always and 
 necessarily, just as it does happen, without respect 
 to what precedes or follows. And this is the notion 
 of freedom as Kant entertains it. The point of his 
 argument on behalf of reconcihation is that the 
 idea of constancy and universality in general does 
 not contradict that of constancy and universahty 
 in a particular instance. Farther than this he does 
 not attempt to go. He warns us repeatedly that he 
 does not undertake to show how freedom and nat- 
 ural causation may be harmonized, that he does not 
 attempt to show that freedom is actual nor yet to 
 show how it is possible, but only that it is possible, 
 namely, in the sense that the notion of freedom, as 
 of unconditioned necessity and constancy, does 
 not contradict the notion of conditioned necessity 
 and constancy, but rather is an extension of the 
 latter, the latter raised in idea to the power of the 
 infinite. To put the thought in different language, 
 the idea of freedom, while leaving the empirical
 
 324 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 nexus untouched, superadds the missing logical 
 link between antecedent and consequent. The 
 empirical nexus is a foot-bridge that spans a river. 
 Causahty, through freedom, is the steel cable that 
 connects the banks and supports the frail struc- 
 ture that hangs suspended from it. The idea of 
 freedom is that of the complete conditioning of 
 what, in experience, is always incompletely condi- 
 tioned, and this idea is reached, not by a perfect 
 regressus from which we are precluded, but by 
 our going outside of the time series, being war- 
 ranted in so doing by the dissimilarity in kind that 
 may subsist between a cause and its effect. (I 
 ought to here say, by way of caution, that Kant 
 does not attempt to efface the distinction between 
 the order of nature and the order of freedom, when 
 he urges upon our attention what is common to 
 both, namely, the notion of constancy and neces- 
 sity in happenings. Unconditioned self-activity 
 and activity determined by antecedent conditions 
 remain as widely apart as ever. The two have 
 not really been reconciled. Still, if we admit the 
 argument, they are shown to be not irreconcilable. 
 The same act which we know to be determined, 
 when we regard it as lying in the empirical series, 
 we may regard as free, when we consider it as the 
 effect of a deeper, under- working cause. And at 
 this point, it may be well to observe the closeness 
 of connection between the "Kritik of Practical 
 Reason" and the "Kritik of Pure Reason." The
 
 FELIX ADLER 325 
 
 formula of the Categorical Imperative is but the 
 application to conduct of the idea of necessity 
 and universality, that is, of freedom regarded as 
 a cosmological idea. 
 
 Let us now proceed to consider how these key- 
 thoughts are apphed to the problem of the free- 
 dom of the human will. First, a distinction is drawn 
 between the empirical character and the noumenal 
 character. The former is wholly subject to the 
 law of natural necessity ; the latter is free. Every 
 act of ours, Kant tells us, is to be referred back for 
 explanation to antecedent conditions. All that 
 part of any human act which is explicable is thus 
 to be explained. If we could completely know the 
 empirical character of a man at any given moment, 
 we should be able to predict all his future actions 
 with as much certainty as we predict an echpse. 
 Language could not be more exphcit than this. 
 The law of natural causahty tolerates no exception, 
 and our empirical self, the only self we know, hes 
 wholly within the province of that law. Wherein, 
 then, does freedom consist.'* In the fact that our 
 empirical self is but the phenomenon of the nou- 
 menal self, in the fact that the whole series of our 
 acts is but the manifestation in time of a timeless 
 choice. The noumenon does not enter as an inter- 
 loper between any antecedent and its consequent. 
 It is the profounder reality of which the whole 
 string of antecedents and consequents is the 
 external apparition.
 
 326 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 Further amplification and elucidation, however, 
 are needed. What, we may ask, does Kant mean 
 when he says that a man's empirical character is 
 the phenomenon of his particular noumenon? 
 Empirically, the influences that contribute to form 
 us stretch back far beyond the limits of our indi- 
 viduality. Sixteen grandparents, if we go back 
 only a few generations, and hosts of ancestors back 
 of these, have helped to mould us. Our origins are 
 so ramified as speedily to be lost to view in the 
 general mass of humanity; and humanity itself, 
 in its beginnings, extends backward into the ani- 
 mal world. What, then, does Kant mean when he 
 says that my empirical character is the appearance 
 of my noumenon ? The word " character," it seems 
 to me, is to be taken strictly. Only the character 
 is the phenomenon of the noumenon. And what 
 is the character? Briefly, the degree of intensity 
 with which the reason in me resists all those influ- 
 ences upon me that are uncongenial with itself, 
 the degree of effort which the reason puts forth in 
 affirming itself. When Kant, therefore, declares 
 that, if we knew a man's empirical character at any 
 moment, we could predict all his future acts, he 
 includes in the term "character" this aboriginal 
 set of the will. But, if this be so, why does he 
 assert that, nevertheless, every act of ours can be 
 explained in terms of its antecedents, seeing that 
 the set of our will, the degree of intensity with 
 which the reason resists counter influences and
 
 FELIX ADLER 327 
 
 aflBrms itself is the operation in us of freedom and 
 cannot be explained in terms of antecedent condi- 
 tions. The answer to this question is that the set 
 of our will, the degree to which we are estranged 
 from or conform to reason, is a wholly unknown 
 quantity, is hidden even from ourselves. Yes, in- 
 deed, we should be able to predict a man's future 
 acts if we knew his empirical character. But we 
 never can know his empirical character, at least, 
 not that element in it which stamps it as a charac- 
 ter, which is the imprint on it of the rational 
 cause. What we know about other people and 
 even about ourselves is only the objective, outward 
 side of morality, the act, but never, with any de- 
 gree of certainty, the motive. Self-interest, concern 
 for our reputation, the desire for internal peace 
 may account even for those acts w^hich seem the 
 most virtuous; such as charity to the poor, self- 
 sacrij&ce, truthfulness, etc. Briefly, the morality 
 of an act does not lie within the range of experience. 
 We may give ourselves and others the benefit of 
 the doubt and assume that they or we have acted 
 from a purely rational motive; but we can never 
 be sure of the fact that they have or that we have. 
 Still less can we be sure of the degree of merit to 
 which w^e are entitled to lay claim. Our worth 
 is proportional to the degree of effort which the 
 rational nature in us puts forth in the attempt to 
 affirm itself. But it is obvious that if the counter 
 influences, as in the case of the offspring of a dipso-
 
 328 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 maniac, are great, even a sturdy effort of the rational 
 nature may produce but meagre objective results ; 
 while, on the other hand, if the influences from 
 without are propitious, as in the case of the gently 
 born, even a feeble effort may produce outwardly 
 fair results. The degree of merit, however, is pro- 
 portioned, not to the result, but to the effort, and 
 this, even in our own case, we cannot estimate. 
 
 Of the Imperative alone, "thou oughtest," are 
 we sure, and of the idea of freedom involved in it. 
 Actual freedom is an inference, a postulate. But 
 if the freely operating cause be thus inaccessible 
 and if, at the same time, unlike the noumena of 
 phenomena in general, it is represented as a cause 
 which has intercourse with the phenomenal world, 
 and which injects its influence into the latter, how 
 are we to represent to ourselves this connection be- 
 tween two orders of existence so entirely disparate .'' 
 I think we shall best comprehend Kant's language 
 if we assume that what he says on this subject is 
 to be understood symboHcally. A symbol, in the 
 sense in which Kant employs the term, is a nou- 
 menon represented for the nonce as if it were 
 clothed with phenomenal attributes. We know 
 that the garments do not fit. We do not assert that 
 any such being as we have dressed up actually 
 exists. But we require the help of such a figment 
 because it stands for or symbolizes an ultimate 
 truth, which we need to keep before the mind, and 
 of which we cannot in any other way lay hold.
 
 FELIX ADLER 329 
 
 Thus, for instance, the conception of God, as Kant 
 employs it, is symbohc. He does not say that God 
 exists. On the contrary, he has taken the utmost 
 pains to destroy the proofs of his existence. Nor 
 is his reintroduction of the idea of God a glaring 
 self-contradiction, as it is often represented to be. 
 He tells us that we are to think and to act as if 
 such a being existed, for certain practical purposes. 
 He has draped the noumenon in phenomenal 
 attributes. And in the same way, I beheve, in the 
 chief passages that relate to the subject which we 
 are now" considering, he has invested the noumenon 
 of freedom with phenomenal attributes, with gar- 
 ments that do not fit, with attributes that really 
 contradict its nature. He asks us to pass over the 
 contradiction, to look upon the thing as if it were 
 what he describes it to be, to treat it as the symbol 
 of what we cannot, in its own essence, grasp, in 
 order that we may be able to keep before our 
 minds the fact that there is such a noumenon. 
 Thus, for instance, he represents a rational, time- 
 less cause as acting. But how can we speak of 
 action at all which does not occur in time ? What 
 sense can we connect with the words "timeless 
 action".'' Never mind, says Kant, we are dealing 
 with a symbol. A noumenon is treated ad hoc 
 as if it were a phenomenon. Again, a rational 
 cause, one which is determined solely from within, 
 nevertheless elects in a timeless choice to assert 
 its rational nature imperfectly. The lapses of our
 
 330 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 empirical character are represented as due to a nou- 
 menal flaw. But how can there be such a flaw? 
 Since reason, ex hypothesis is not determined by any- 
 thing outside itself but solely by itself, how can it 
 give effect to its nature otherwise than in a perfectly 
 adequate manner? Once more, "Never mind." 
 We are investing a noumenon with phenomenal at- 
 tributes. We speak of it with a prom^o *' as if." It 
 is only on the assumption of the symbolic signifi- 
 cance of those statements of Kant which relate to 
 the commerce of the noumenon of freedom with 
 the phenomenon that his theory can be properly 
 articulated, and the various parts of it so disposed 
 as to avoid clashing with each other. 
 
 I have devoted so much of my time to exposition 
 as to leave little room for criticism. But as, in that 
 part of this paper which is devoted to the theory of 
 freedom, my main object has been exposition, I 
 shall not regret this circumstance and shall state 
 my points of criticism very briefly. They are of 
 two kinds : practical and metaphysical. The at- 
 tempt to formulate at all or to represent, even in 
 symbolic fashion, the relation of the supersensible 
 to the sensible world is ever fraught with grave 
 moral perils. There are two alternative positions 
 between which those who undertake such attempts 
 are sure to oscillate, two horns of a dilemma on 
 either one or the other of which they are certain to 
 be impaled. Either the phenomenal is noumenal- 
 ized, or the noumenal is phenomenalized ; either
 
 FELIX ADLER 331 
 
 the relative, the human, is invested with an abso- 
 lute character and thus acquires a degree of rigidity 
 which deprives it of hfe, or the absolute is degraded 
 to the level of the relative and thus loses its abso- 
 lute character. A result of this nature has attended 
 Kant's undertaking. He tells us that the empirical 
 character is but the unfolding in time of a nou- 
 menal choice, taken outside the realm of time. 
 If this be so, then it follows that the hope of moral 
 regeneration is cut off; and on the most obvious 
 grounds of practical morality we must protest. 
 To say that the empirical character is merely the 
 apparition of the noumenal is tantamount to say- 
 ing that we cannot really become other than what 
 we have been, that we can only, as circumstances 
 favor or inhibit, bring to light that moral self in 
 us which has been and is and will ever be the 
 same. But this is to deny our dearest moral hope. 
 From the standpoint of practical morality, we are 
 bound, on the contrary, to say that we can always 
 transcend our former selves, that we can really 
 become different beings, that our choice is not be- 
 yond recall, that a new choice is open to us every 
 day and every hour. The following alternative, 
 it seems to me, so far as Kant is concerned, is not 
 to be evaded. Either he must make the character 
 a rigid thing and introduce noumenal inflexibility 
 into the empirical will; or, if he were to admit 
 the possibility of genuine moral change, he would be 
 constrained to introduce change into the noumenon 
 itself and thus abolish its noumenal character.
 
 332 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 The other class of objections is metaphysical. 
 
 In the first place, let us state the objections that 
 lie against the Kantian deduction of the possibility 
 of freedom. Admitting that natural causality 
 applies only to phenomena, it follows that another 
 kind of causahty, operating over and above or out- 
 side of the time series, is thinkable. Thus far we 
 must, I think, assent to Kant's argument. We 
 are bound to remember that the temporal series 
 of antecedents and consequents is a fragment in- 
 capable of being extended so as to touch a start- 
 ing-point or to merge into a final end. Natural 
 and libertarian causality are contradictory only on 
 the assumption that a past eternity has actually 
 elapsed, that the whole series of natural causes 
 exists objectively, independently of our subjective 
 ability to survey it, that it lies like some silent 
 world which has never been visited, like the Pole, 
 which has not been reached, but of which we know, 
 all the same, that it is objectively existent. If the 
 whole series of antecedents be supposed to exist 
 in this fashion, ready to appear to an intelligence 
 capable of winging its flight so far, then, indeed, 
 natural causality precludes any other kind of caus- 
 ality, then determinism swallows up liberty, and 
 the problem of freedom cannot even be raised. 
 But if we distinguish between the infinite expansion 
 of possible experience and the possibility of an in- 
 finite experience, as Kant does, then the law of 
 natural causality is merely a provisional device for
 
 FELIX ADLER 333 
 
 the arrangement of phenomena with a view to our 
 subjective mastery of them, a device which does 
 not yield final truth and does not exclude recourse to 
 other modes of interpretation, if, for valid reasons, 
 we find ourselves called upon to resort to them. 
 
 To this extent, then, I should agree with Kant. 
 But he takes a further step, and here my agree- 
 ment with him ceases. We may think of the nou- 
 menon, he says, as that unknown X which lies 
 behind the screen of phenomena, a mere ideal 
 point to which attaches our logical demand for 
 totality. We may also think of it, he goes on to 
 say, as a cause which produces effects in the time 
 series, and which has relations to and commerce 
 with a certain particular class of phenomena. The 
 noumenon in the first sense is the noumenon of 
 the world in general. The noumenon in the second 
 sense is our human noumenon, that which corre- 
 sponds to and serves as a point of attachment for 
 the idea of a unified or moral personahty. It is 
 this notion of intercourse between two wholly 
 disparate orders of existence that creates all the 
 difficulties, the insuperable difficulties, with which 
 his doctrine of freedom is embarrassed. 
 
 The metaphysical objections are these. There 
 are two factors to the combined use of which the 
 human mind is unalterably committed by its very 
 constitution. The one is a manifold of some kind, 
 as a datum; the other, the synthetic process in 
 some one of its various modes. Within the field
 
 334 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 of experience Kant realizes that these two factors 
 are inseparable, that unity is meaningless unless it 
 be the unity of a manifold of some sort. Outside 
 of the field of experience he seeks to cut the cord 
 which connects these Siamese twins, to break the 
 contract by which these two mutually dependent 
 correlatives, these everlasting partners, are associ- 
 ated, and to establish a synthesis in vacuo, to treat 
 the rational factor which contributes the element of 
 unity to experience as if it were capable not only of 
 existing by itself, but of becoming the cause of effects. 
 This attempt to set off by itself one of a brace of 
 correlatives, to cut with one of a pair of shears, seems 
 to me the capital metaphysical error. 
 
 A second error seems to lie in the assumption, 
 which is fundamental to Kant's argument, that 
 effect and cause need not be the same in kind, caus- 
 ality merely implying dependence, and not involv- 
 ing an intrinsic connection. Now it is true that 
 the effect is never wholly identical with the cause 
 but, in some respects, differs from it, else it would 
 be impossible, even in thought, to hold the two 
 apart. And yet, not only is there, despite the dif- 
 ference, a fundamental identity, a common sub- 
 stance necessarily presumed to underlie all changes, 
 but the changes themselves must be reducible to a 
 common denominator, as when the physicist at- 
 tempts to explain all the manifestations of energy 
 in Nature as modes of motion. Nor can we 
 establish a firm connection between effects and
 
 FELIX ABLER 335 
 
 causes until we have satisfied both requirements ; 
 until we have found or assumed an unchanging 
 somewhat that underhes the change, and have 
 discovered a common process of which all the 
 changes may be explained as variations. Now, 
 it is evident that, while Kant may be admitted to 
 have proved the possible identity of substance, as 
 between noumenon and phenomenon, he has not 
 shown the common process of which the phenom- 
 enal and noumenal happenings are the modes, 
 and, in default of such a demonstration, it is not 
 legitimate to refer phenomenal effects to noume- 
 nal causes. Such differences as may properly be 
 allowed to exist between effect and cause are 
 differences within the same order, not differences 
 between one order and a wholly different order. 
 Moreover, the statement of Kant that causality 
 implies merely dependence and not intrinsic con- 
 nection shows that he transfers what is only true 
 of phenomena to noumena. In the case of the 
 former, precisely because they are only phenomena, 
 we must rest content with a merely extrinsic nexus. 
 But a noumenal cause is one the very assumption 
 of which implies an attempt to satisfy our logical 
 demand for a complete account of the relation be- 
 tween cause and effect, and a complete account 
 must show the intrinsic bond between the two. 
 
 At this point, and before passing to other parts 
 of my subject, I may perhaps attempt to indicate 
 succinctly my own attitude toward the question of
 
 336 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 freedom, as I have been requested to do. The 
 problem of moral spontaneity or free will seems 
 to me to be only a special case of the problem of 
 mental spontaneity. Is it true that the mind can 
 act spontaneously.^ Is it true that it can react in 
 an original way on the data of sensation presented 
 to it ? When the key of sensation is thrust into our 
 mental lock is there a bolt shot that holds fast 
 experience and prevents the treasures we gather 
 from being scattered to the winds ? Does there 
 occur an act of unification ? If so, then this act of 
 unification is an act of mental spontaneity strictly 
 speaking, itself not explicable in terms of that 
 manifold, of the coherence of which it is the prior 
 condition. Thus, in a certain sense, we are en- 
 titled, instead of narrowing the territory of freedom, 
 rather to extend it, instead of wondering and 
 doubting whether we can vindicate the existence 
 of freedom in one aspect of our mental life, rather 
 to wonder at the suggestion that there should not 
 be freedom in the mental life as seen from one 
 particular point of view, since freedom, spontan- 
 eity, is the characteristic of our mental life from 
 every point of view. I do not say, of course, that 
 we can explain this fundamental act of unity in any 
 of its manifestations. I only claim that it is not 
 more inexplicable in that aspect of the mental life 
 which we call volition than in any other. The 
 fundamental question is: how the one and the 
 many can embrace, how it comes to pass that all
 
 FELIX ADLER 337 
 
 that is highest in us, our science, our art, our ethics, 
 should be the offspring of this marriage of two such 
 ahen opposites as the one and the manifold. And 
 to this question there is no answer. We are so con- 
 stituted. As a matter of fact, truth, beauty, and 
 goodness are the children of this pair who are for- 
 ever fleeing and forever seeking each other, for- 
 ever clamoring to be divorced on the ground of 
 radical incompatibihty, and forever unable to en- 
 dure the absence of each other's society. How 
 there can be mental spontaneity is the insoluble 
 problem, soluble only in a practical way, namely, 
 by the assurance that there is. Every time a mathe- 
 matician conceives the notion of uniform space, 
 or a physicist the notion of uniform time, he per- 
 forms an act of mental freedom. Every time w^e 
 mark off a set of relatively constant processes and 
 regard them collectively, i. e., from the point of 
 view of unity, as an object or a thing, we are per- 
 forming an act of mental freedom. The chain of 
 causes and effects, of antecedents and consequents, 
 a chain which hangs loose in air at both ends, never- 
 theless, so far as link is interlocked with link, is a 
 product of our mental freedom. Natural causa- 
 tion itself, w^hich seems to fetter us as if we were 
 slaves, is a fetter which we ourselves have forged 
 in the workshop of mental freedom. The world, 
 so far as we can speak of a w^orld — and we can only 
 speak of it by a species of poetic license ; Nature, 
 or this fragment of Nature of which we have 
 
 22
 
 338 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 knowledge, which we have made in our own mental 
 image, or, at least, stamped with our mental image, 
 which, in this sense, we have not merely reproduced 
 but created. Nature, I say, with all the causaUty 
 that obtains in it, is the evidence and the witness 
 of our mental freedom. 
 
 And yet, of course, there is a distinction be- 
 tween moral and mental freedom. Though the fet- 
 ter be forged by our own hands, it binds us none 
 the less securely. And the problem, as it seems 
 to me, is really this : not how freedom is possible, 
 for the answer to that question simply is, it is possi- 
 ble inasmuch as it is actual, but how is one kind 
 of freedom consistent with another kind, the kind 
 of spontaneity which we mean when we think of 
 vohtion, with that kind of freedom which operates 
 in constructive science? And what is the distinc- 
 tion between these two ? Briefly, to my mind, the 
 distinction is this. The act of unification, which is 
 involved in science, is a synthesis of causes. The 
 act of unification, involved in ethics, is a synthesis 
 of ends. The face of science is turned backward. 
 It seeks to explain the present in terms of the past. 
 The face of ethics is turned forward. It seeks to 
 determine the present with reference to results to 
 be attained in the future. . Or, to go a step farther, 
 the ultimate distinction between science and ethics, 
 is it not this? The manifold with which science 
 deals, which it is its business to unify, is given 
 in sensation, in experience. The manifold with
 
 FELIX ADLER 339 
 
 which ethics deals is not given, not supplied at 
 all from without, but is a purely ideal manifold. 
 Granted that, being so made as we are, the union 
 of the one and the many is the burden of every 
 song we sing, is the theme of that intellectual 
 music in obedience to the strains of which our 
 world, the little world we inhabit, is built up, — 
 granted that this is so, we find that in the field 
 of science our hberty is restricted by the circum- 
 stance that the manifold, which it is of the essence 
 of our intelligence to seek to unify, is forced upon 
 us, as an unalterable datum, to which we must ac- 
 commodate ourselves in order to master it, and 
 which yet we can never wholly master because of 
 the irrational residuum which remains in it, de- 
 spite our utmost efforts to rationahze it, because 
 it is, in the ultimate analysis, intractable and un- 
 congenial to our intelligences. And therefore, 
 aiming at a highest manifestation of our construc- 
 tive hberty, seeking an utterly free field for the 
 achievement of rational synthesis, we figure to our- 
 selves the idea of a manifold which shall be wholly 
 tractable, of such difjerentiae in which shall wholly 
 be expressed the underlying unity, of such unity as 
 shall wholly embrace and absorb in itself the op- 
 posing plurality. And it is by this means, by 
 freeing the notion of the manifold from the restrict- 
 ing conditions to which as a datum ah extra it is 
 subjected, by transcending the bounds of experi- 
 ence and taking the notion of the manifold in an
 
 340 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 unlimited sense, as "manifold in general," by con- 
 ceiving the two antipodal poles between which our 
 intellectual life plays, as ideally harmonized, it is 
 by such means that we arrive at the organic ideal, 
 or the ethical ideal. For the two are identical. 
 The organic ideal is that of an infinite system of 
 correlated parts, each of which is necessary to 
 express the meaning of the whole, and in each of 
 which the whole is present as an abiding and con- 
 trolling force. The ethical ideal is produced by 
 applying this purely spiritual conception of an in- 
 finite organism to human society. To act as if my 
 fellow- beings and as if I myself were members of 
 such an infinite system in which the manifold and 
 the one are wholly reconciled is to act morally. So 
 act, not as if the rule of thy action were to become 
 a universal law for all rational beings (for I shall 
 presently endeavor to show that this is impossible), 
 but so act that through thine action the ideal of an 
 infinite spiritual organism may become more and 
 more potent and real in thine own life and in that 
 of all thy fellow-beings. 
 
 And how is this ethical kind of freedom com- 
 patible with the other kind which expresses itself 
 in forging the chain of natural causality ? The 
 two are compatible only because they refer to 
 totally different sides of the same act. Natural 
 causality deals with the manifold that is given. 
 It seeks to piece together the parts of it as they ap- 
 pear in the time series, to relate each successor to
 
 FELIX ADLER 341 
 
 its predecessor. Moral causality deals with a man- 
 ifold that is not given. It signifies the force in us 
 of an idea, namely, of the idea of a final recon- 
 ciliation of Unity and Plurality, whereof experi- 
 ence presents no example, and which, nevertheless, 
 in consequence of the inborn desire to harmonize 
 the two conflicting tendencies of our nature, we 
 are compelled to propose to ourselves as our high- 
 est end. Moral causality leaves natural causality 
 intact in its own sphere and uses it. Natural 
 causality may be compared to the shuttle that 
 runs backward and forward weaving, according 
 to unalterable mechanical laws, the web and woof 
 of existence. Moral causality, our "best card" in 
 more senses than one, may be compared to the pat- 
 tern in accord with which the web is to be woven. 
 (Technically speaking, the fatal error that vitiates 
 Kant's Transcendental Dialectic is to be found in 
 the proposition that the idea of the unconditioned 
 arises solely a tergo. Any existing thing whatso- 
 ever being conditioned, he says, necessarily presup- 
 poses the idea of a preceding sum of conditions 
 adequate to account for its existence, or the idea 
 of an unconditioned. But we are not equally con- 
 strained, he maintains, to look beyond the present 
 and to think of the multitudinous consequences 
 of that which now is as converging toward a future 
 unconditioned. So far as we are mere spectators 
 of the show, inquisitive of causes, this is true. But, 
 inasmuch as we are also actors, and since each end
 
 342 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 of action that we propose to ourselves has only 
 relative significance, we are forced, would we sat- 
 isfy the demand for unity in the choice of ends, to 
 push forward in anticipation toward some ultimate 
 end to which all our minor ends may be related as 
 means. The unconditioned of the future, there- 
 fore, necessarily arises for us in the field of conduct 
 or of ethics, and the idea of the complete merging 
 into one another of the manifold and the one ap- 
 pears to me, if not the absolute end, the highest 
 and clearest representative symbol of it to which 
 we are capable of attaining.) 
 
 Having thus, in bare outline, indicated my ac- 
 ceptance of the doctrine of freedom on other than 
 Kantian grounds and with a meaning assigned to 
 it different from his, let me now pass on to other 
 points of criticism. The connection between the 
 "Kritik of Pure Reason" and that of the "Prac- 
 tical Reason" is close and must ever be borne in 
 mind. Kant is the philosophical exponent and 
 champion of the universal reign of law. Through- 
 out the "Kritik" it is his aim to fortify our confi- 
 dence in the vahdity of natural laws. To this end, 
 he demonstrates the existence in the mind itself of 
 the types of which these laws are the replicas. He 
 discovers in the mind itself the philosopher's stone 
 which transmutes associations into laws. By what 
 right do we speak of physical laws at all ? he asks. 
 What is the law-creating element which gives to 
 these so-called laws their lawful character ? These
 
 FELIX ADLER 343 
 
 are the questions which in the "Kritik" he puts. 
 And the various forms of the synthetic process 
 furnish the answers to them. Kant is the philoso- 
 pher of physical law. His metaphysical concepts 
 are intended to buttress and support the throne of 
 physical law. And as to his fundamental ethical 
 principle, this again turns out to be nothing more 
 than the disembodied ghost of physical law, just 
 the sheer idea of absolute lawfulness applied to 
 conduct, just the bare notion of necessity and uni- 
 versality in action, without regard to the content 
 of the act. There is no sunlight in Kant's moral 
 world. All moral acts in themselves considered are 
 as dead and cold as the satellite that revolves 
 around our earth, and the light of universality and 
 necessity, with which they shine, is reflected and 
 comes to them from an unseen luminary lying 
 beyond our horizon. Now, in replying to this view, 
 let it be remembered that the notion of necessity 
 and universality, in the "Kritik of Pure Reason," 
 is always presented as the concomitant of the syn- 
 thetic processes. Something occurs in conscious- 
 ness, namely, the synthetic process in one of its 
 various forms, and, in virtue of the constitution of 
 our minds, w^e realize that this process, this act of 
 unification, is necessary and universally valid for 
 ourselves and for all rational beings like ourselves. 
 Something happens which we recognize as neces- 
 sary. But in the "Kritik of the Practical Reason" 
 necessity and universality, these concomitants of
 
 344 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 something else, are represented as if an independ- 
 ent authority belonged to them, as if they were co- 
 gent in their own right. This is not and cannot 
 be the case. And here we light upon the flaw in 
 Kant's ethical principle. Here we see why his 
 ethics is so unconvincing. It is, I repeat, because 
 that which is cogent only as the concomitant of 
 something else is represented by him as if it were 
 cogent on its own account. I do not admit, as is 
 often asserted, that it is the formal character of 
 Kant's ethical principle that makes it unsatisfying. 
 The principle of causality, too, is a purely formal 
 one, and yet it is fruitful and convincing enough. 
 Rather is it the failure of Kant to point out, as un- 
 derlying ethics, some specific, synthetic process 
 capable of being apprehended by us as necessary 
 and universal that makes his ethics sterile. It is a 
 ghost, the ghost of natural law, which we are asked 
 to accept as the oracle of conduct. Kant's Cate- 
 gorical Imperative comes to us with the impact of 
 a blow on the head. "Thou shalt." Why.? We 
 are forbidden even to ask that question. One is 
 sometimes tempted to think that the spirit of the 
 Prussian Army, as it was handled in the days of 
 Frederick the Great, Kant's contemporary, has 
 entered, in the shape of the Categorical Imperative, 
 into the domain of philosophy, that the Imperative 
 of the metaphysician is a kind of echo of the com- 
 mands of the corporal. But, if we take heart, never- 
 theless, and reflect upon the way we are thus bidden
 
 FELIX ADLER 345 
 
 to act, if we imagine a state of human society in 
 which every man would be a perfect moral agent, 
 according to Kant's formula, i. e., a state of society 
 in which every act of every human being would have 
 the character of necessity and universality, and 
 then ask ourselves whether such a state of society 
 would really represent to us the perfect moral order ; 
 whether we should be able to dwell upon it with 
 satisfaction, 1 think the answer would be in the 
 negative. Suppose the goal, as Kant conceives of 
 it, to have been reached ; but what has been gained ? 
 Suppose that every word spoken and every deed 
 done is determined by this abstract idea of univer- 
 sality and necessity. Suppose that men act with 
 the precision of conscious automata. But in what 
 respect would the moral order thus painfully estab- 
 lished — if ever it could be — be superior to the 
 physical order ? The inhalation and exhalation of 
 breath, the discharge of the basest animal func- 
 tions, the fall of a stone, are marked by the same 
 universality and necessity. Consciousness, in- 
 deed, would be superadded. The machine would 
 be aware of the turning of its wheels. But this, 
 considered as the net outcome of "the travailing 
 and the groaning," is hardly an inspiring outlook. 
 And moreover, even this result, the perfect auto- 
 matism plus consciousness, could only be attained 
 in the last days, at the end of evolution, in the far 
 distant future. While, in the long interval, the 
 consciousness which is superadded would be dis-
 
 346 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 tinctly a disturbing factor inhibiting instincts 
 which might have been surer guides, confusing 
 and often baffling our decisions. Kant's ethics is 
 a species of physics. His moral law is natural law 
 dipped in the bath of consciousness. The funda- 
 mental flaw is that he represents the joint notion 
 of necessity and of universality, which is cogent 
 only as the accompaniment of the synthetic process, 
 as if cogent on its own account. 
 
 The next point of criticism is that Kant's con- 
 ception of morality is projected so far into the em- 
 pyrean that there seems to be no bridge by which it 
 can be connected with the actual sublunary world. 
 According to Kant, a moral act is one which is per- 
 formed exclusively out of respect for the idea of 
 necessity and universality. Now, as he admits, it 
 cannot be proved that such an act has ever been 
 performed, and hence it follows that the existence 
 anywhere of moral beings becomes doubtful. For 
 what is a moral being ? Shall we say a being capa- 
 ble of moral acts, capable only, without our having 
 adequate reason to think that this capacity has 
 ever expressed itself? Kant doubtless would say 
 that a moral being is one who acknowledges the 
 obligation to act morally, whether he does so or 
 not, one who recognizes in himself the sort of con- 
 straint which is due to the working, as he would 
 explain, of the idea of universality and necessity. 
 But have we any ground for supposing that the 
 preponderant majority of men are even faintly
 
 FELIX ADLER 347 
 
 moved by this idea of universality and necessity, 
 that they stand inwardly in awe and reverence be- 
 fore it, or that they feel the obligation of purging 
 the springs of their conduct of every other motive 
 except that of respect for necessity and universality ? 
 And if we have no ground for supposing this, then, 
 also, have we no ground for regarding the prepon- 
 derant majority of mankind as moral beings. We 
 cannot even be sure that we ourselves, who walk 
 on the upper levels of abstract thinking, are moral 
 beings ! And hence the moral law falls to the 
 ground because there is no one of whom we can 
 be sure that he applies it, and no one to whom with 
 certainty it can be applied. Plainly, we are bound 
 to act morally only toward other moral beings. 
 If, nevertheless, it is urged once more that though 
 freedom be absent the idea of freedom is present 
 in every human being, even in the most humble 
 and the most debased, I must again reply that the 
 idea of freedom, as Kant interprets it, is surely not 
 present in the minds of the ignorant or of the 
 vicious. And, if we are to continue to regard every 
 one who wears the human form as a moral being, 
 and as one toward whom we are bound to behave 
 morally, it must be on other grounds than those 
 with which Kant supplies us. 
 
 The next objection is that the practical moral 
 commands are incapable of being derived from the 
 Kantian formula. It is a matter of surprise that 
 this diflSculty has not more clearly forced itself on
 
 348 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 the attention of the many thinkers who have 
 trodden in Kant's footsteps. The duties which all 
 recognize as moral cannot be derived from the bare 
 idea of lawfulness. There is a fallacy involved in 
 Kant's reasoning, there is a false assumption under- 
 lying it. To show what this is, let us take up his 
 own examples of the moral commands or duties and 
 observe the method by which he endeavors to de- 
 duce them from his formula. All that is requisite, 
 he tells us, in order to decide in a given case whether 
 a contemplated act is moral or not, is in thought 
 to universalize it, that is, to suppose that all men 
 should act in the same way. If, on this hypoth- 
 esis, it is still consistent to act in this manner, then 
 the act is moral. Self- consistency, on the basis of 
 universality, is the test. For instance, take the case 
 of veracity. A man ponders whether it is morally 
 right or wrong to tell a lie. Let him assume that all 
 men should make it their rule in their communi- 
 cations with their fellows to speak, not the truth, 
 but the opposite of it. Under such circumstances, 
 would not the entire advantage of lying disappear ? 
 Would it be consistent for a man, that is, consistent 
 with the object which he hopes to gain, to prevari- 
 cate ? A man lies, says Kant, on the assumption 
 that others, that the world at large will stick to the 
 truth. If every one else should lie, what profit 
 would there be for him in doing so ? The same 
 holds good, he tells us, with regard to theft. A man 
 may fail to respect the property of others so long
 
 FELIX ADLER 349 
 
 as he expects they that will be good-natured 
 enough to respect his own. If stealing were to 
 become general what would it profit anyone to 
 steal ? The same, again, applies to the duty of 
 charity. A man may refuse to aid a fellow- being 
 in distress, but he cannot desire that it shall become 
 the accepted rule to leave the sick, the starving, 
 the indigent to their fate. He can easily enough 
 realize that a time may come when he will be de- 
 pendent on the good offices of others, and that the 
 rule which he had sanctioned in the day of his 
 strength would seem wicked enough to him in the 
 day of his weakness. It is hardly necessary to 
 observe that it is not the gospel of enlightened self- 
 interest that Kant teaches. He uses self-interest 
 not as a motive but as a criterion. That which 
 would be to our interest, if one and the same rule 
 of action were adopted by all, whether actually it 
 be adopted by them or not, — that is moral. But 
 what an absurdly short cut is this toward solving 
 the most intricate and complex of all practical 
 questions, — the question, what is right ? what 
 is obligatory ? what is my duty ? Contrasted with 
 the sublime flight which he takes into the region 
 of the noumenal in order to obtain his first princi- 
 ple, this device to which he resorts for obtaining 
 the laws of the noumenal as they reflect themselves 
 in the world of phenomena, I must say, seems to 
 me a veritable anti-climax. We can explain it per- 
 haps by calling to mind that Kant devoted the
 
 350 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 major part of his life to the investigation of physi- 
 cal laws and of the fundamental principles that 
 underlie them, and that he gave to ethics, not in- 
 tentionally but actually, the crumbs that fell from 
 the table of physics, the remnant of the strength 
 of his dechning years. But let us see wherein con- 
 sists the false assumption implied in his method. 
 To take up first the case of theft. If stealing 
 were to become general, Kant says, it would be 
 absurd to steal. The one who despoils another 
 does so in the hope of keeping as his property what 
 he seizes. If property rights were not respected at 
 all, the thief might as well dip his hand into the 
 sea, with a view of grasping and keeping a part of 
 it, as into his neighbor's pocket. The fallacy un- 
 derlying this reasoning is the assumption that, if 
 all men were minded to take away the possessions 
 of others, they would all be equally able to do so, 
 the assumption that all men are equal, if not com- 
 pletely, yet to all practical intents and purposes. 
 And this assumption he shares with the leading 
 thinkers of the latter part of the eighteenth century. 
 It was the same undemonstrable hypothesis that 
 underlay the doctrines of the laissez-faire school in 
 economics ; the same hypothesis, blindly accepted, 
 that inspired the political reasonings of Rousseau, 
 that expressed itself in the French Declaration 
 of the Rights of Man, and in the American Decla- 
 ration of Independence, the assumption, namely, 
 that all men are born equal. Strange as this view
 
 FELIX ADLER 351 
 
 appears to us, we can very well understand how it 
 arose as a reaction against the artificial inequali- 
 ties which the feudal system had introduced in 
 European society. It was natural for those who 
 rebelled against those artificial inequalities to go 
 to the opposite extreme of supposing that all ine- 
 qualities between man and man are artificial in 
 their origin, and that if the prevalent hierarchical 
 system of caste could be swept away and men be 
 revealed in their true nature, as they come from 
 the hands of the Creator, it would be found that 
 no inequalities existed between them, at least, 
 none that might not be regarded as negligible. It 
 is this doctrinaire assumption of eighteenth cen- 
 tury speculation that we find involved in Kant's 
 attempted deduction of the practical moral com- 
 mands from the idea of abstract lawfulness. If all 
 men were really equal, then their intent to rob 
 each other of their possessions would mean their 
 ability to do so. But, supposing merely the intent 
 without the abihty, then the general acceptance of 
 the rule of stealing would not make it inconsistent 
 for the strong and unscrupulous to defy the weak, 
 and to rest securely in their unhallowed gains, in 
 the midst of universal lawlessness. 
 
 The derivation of the rule of charity is open to 
 precisely the same criticism. Kant, in this con- 
 nection, goes into some details. The duty of 
 assisting the needy is not based on the egoistic 
 expectation of a possible quid pro quo. It is not a
 
 352 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 rule of do ut des. We are not advised to throw our 
 bread upon the waters in the hope that it may re- 
 turn to us after many days. "For a man, con- 
 ceivably," says Kant, "may be so misanthropic 
 and sour in temper as to be quite willing to enter 
 into a contract that no one shall ever help him if 
 he can but have the satisfaction of withholding 
 assistance from those who importune him for it." 
 "But," he continues, "even such a misanthropist, 
 pleased as he might be for his own part to escape 
 from the claims of benevolence, could not as an 
 impartial observer contemplate with approbation 
 a state of society in which the rule were general, 
 that no one shall act benevolently toward another." 
 It would be against reason to approve of such a 
 rule. The argument of Kant derives its force 
 from the supposition that all men are equally de- 
 pendent on one another, but it quite misses fire 
 if, as is actually the case, this dependence obtains 
 in highly unequal degrees. It would not be incon- 
 sistent, e. g., for the miser who has purchased a large 
 annuity, or has invested in safe securities, to refuse 
 to give alms, trusting to the extreme improbability 
 that he himself shall ever be in want. 
 
 The next example is that of truthfulness and 
 falsehood. And here, again, I can see no reason 
 why the rule of prevarication should be self-defeat- 
 ing, in case falsehood were to become general. 
 Let us consider for a moment how such a plan 
 would work. In the first place, there would be one
 
 FELIX ABLER 353 
 
 element of certainty upon which we could always 
 rely. Everything that a man said to us would be 
 sure not to be true. There is a sphere in which 
 this state of things is said to a considerable extent 
 to have prevailed, until recent times, — the sphere 
 of diplomacy. Was it, then, inconsistent for a 
 diplomatist to follow Talleyrand's maxim that lan- 
 guage is given us for the purpose of concealing 
 our thoughts, because he knew that his fellow- 
 diplomatists would treat him in like fashion ? By 
 no means, for the obvious reason that not all men 
 are equally skilled in concealing their thoughts. 
 And even if this were not so, the difference in psy- 
 chological penetration and in ability to interpret 
 the signs, apart from language, by which facts may 
 be ascertained would still make it possible for the 
 crafty liar to attain his end at the expense of his 
 more bungling competitor. I do not, of course, 
 imply that the spectacle afforded by human society, 
 if lying, theft, etc., were to become the general 
 practice, would be a pleasant one to contemplate. 
 Nor do I gainsay that even the partial acceptance 
 of the moral rules greatly enhances the commodity 
 of human existence. What I deny is that it would 
 not be consistent for the stronger and the more 
 crafty to pursue their selfish ends without scruple, 
 if all others tried to do the same. 
 
 Finally, a word in this connection in regard to 
 the grounds on which Kant bases the prohibition of 
 suicide. Self-love, or the desire for happiness, he 
 
 23
 
 354 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 says, is a means to an end, namely, the preservation 
 and enhancement of life. It would be inconsistent, 
 he thinks, if the same principle which is designed 
 for the enhancement of life should lead to the de- 
 struction of it. This argument is so far-fetched and 
 so unreal that one is at first at a loss to decide in 
 what sense Kant wishes it to be understood. Does 
 he mean that Nature has implanted in man self- 
 love, or the desire for pleasure, for the ulterior 
 purpose of preserving and enhancing hfe, pleasure 
 being the bait, and life the end, and that the act of 
 suicide would therefore exhibit Nature to the ex- 
 tent that she is manifested in man, as at variance 
 with herself, the desire for pleasure producing 
 the very opposite effect of that which it was in- 
 tended to subserve ? If this be Kant's meaning, 
 then we must say that the inconsistency, if any such 
 there be, is Nature's and not man's; that, like a 
 bungling workman, she has failed properly to ad- 
 just her means to her ends; that, as a matter of 
 fact, the bait is not seductive enough to produce 
 the desired result. And why should man be held 
 responsible for Nature's failure.? But if Kant 
 means that it is inconsistent for man, from motives 
 of self-love, to end his life, since self-love is the 
 force which prompts him to support life, then the an- 
 swer is that this may be true of self-love in the 
 instinctive stage, but that it is not true when self- 
 love has reached the stage of reflection. The latter 
 (reflective self-love) does not seek pleasure in order
 
 FELIX ADLER 355 
 
 that there may be hfe, but desires life in order that 
 there may be the experience of pleasure. Life is 
 the means, and pleasure the end, and not conversely. 
 And, when the means cease to be adequate to the 
 end, when life, instead of yielding a harvest of joy, 
 produces only an evil crop of pain, it is not incon- 
 sistent, but highly consistent, on grounds of mere 
 self-love to terminate hfe. 
 
 Let us now briefly summarize the outcome of 
 the preceding discussion. Kant's position is this: 
 Would you know what is a moral act ? Take any 
 action whatsoever. Ideally universalize it. That 
 is to say, imagine that all men acted in such a man- 
 ner. Then if, under this hypothesis, the act is self- 
 consistent, i. e., if it does not defeat its own purpose, 
 it is a moral act. The reason why this deduction 
 breaks down is because it is based on the error 
 that the same rule of action, adopted by all men, 
 would lead in each case to the same result. In con- 
 sequence of the innumerable gradations of strength 
 and intelligence that subsist among men, this is 
 not the case. And hence the test of self-consistency 
 fails. 
 
 There are two functions which remain to be per- 
 formed by the critic if he would grasp the root from 
 which the Kantian ethics springs, and comprehend 
 the fruit it bears. One of these is an examina- 
 tion of the Kantian teleology, of the meaning he 
 attaches to the notion of an "end," and of the 
 illegitimate use, as I think, which he makes of this
 
 356 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 notion. This inquiry is of the utmost importance 
 because Kant, while vigorously excluding the pur- 
 suit of our own personal happiness as a moral end, 
 enjoins it upon us as a moral duty to promote the 
 happiness of others. It is evident that he is com- 
 pelled to take this step if his moral system is to be 
 relieved of its aspect of frowning austerity, and is 
 to acquire warmth of color and richness of content. 
 We must, according to him, repress the desire for 
 happiness in ourselves. We must take our cue 
 from the voice that echoes through empty infinities. 
 Not even the Decalogue, as a set of specific com- 
 mands, but, as it were, the tone of thunder in 
 which it was promulgated, is to be the incentive of 
 our personal morality ; and yet we must be permit- 
 ted to take an interest in the happiness of others, 
 if our philanthropic impulses are not to be wholly 
 thwarted. A merely negative morality, one which 
 respects and forbears to infringe upon the pre- 
 cincts of the personality of others, is not enough. 
 We must be enabled positively to further their de- 
 velopment, and to assist them in the attainment 
 of their ends. Philanthropy demands as much. 
 And Kant was a thorough-going philanthropist. 
 Strangely enough, his extreme rationalism seems 
 to have been but the obverse side of a profound 
 susceptibihty to feeling, so profound, indeed, that 
 perhaps he felt all the more the need of curbing it, 
 a susceptibility which helps to explain the sympa- 
 thy he felt for a sentimentahst hke Rousseau, de-
 
 FELIX ADLER 357 
 
 spite the metaphysical differences that separated 
 them. Kant felt the necessity of introducing the 
 happiness of others as an aim in order to people the 
 moral edifice which otherwise might have remained 
 bare and almost untenanted. But was he justified 
 in so doing ? Was it allowable for him, on the basis 
 of his system, to do so ? For my own part, I sub- 
 mit that it w^as not, and for the following reasons. 
 There are, as Kant maintains in the "Kritik of 
 Pure Reason" and elsewhere, strictly speaking, 
 no such things as natural ends. The notion of 
 telos or end is applied to natural objects only jper 
 mam analogiw. The telos is a provisional concept 
 intended to cover the gap in knowledge due to our 
 ignorance of causes. It is an index finger pointing 
 to the existence of unknown causes, a prod intended 
 to stimulate our search for such causes. A true telos 
 does not exist in nature. We are only advised, or, 
 if you w^ll, enjoined, so to regard nature as if it were 
 the product of a purposeful inteUigence, as if it 
 represented a concatenation of ends, in order that 
 we may the better succeed in unraveUing the chain 
 of causes. A telos, strictly speaking, exists only 
 in the moral realm. There is only a single exam- 
 ple of it of which we have any knowledge — the 
 act which expresses absolute universality and ne- 
 cessity. Now, so far as our fellow-men are moral 
 beings they must work out their salvation without 
 our assistance. A moral act is an act of pure spon- 
 taneity which no one can suggest to or elicit in
 
 358 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 another. A man's morality is wholly his own cre- 
 ation. We cannot enter into another's soul. We 
 cannot either infect or purify his motives. The 
 degree of effort which he makes to lift the rational 
 motive into consciousness and keep it there consti- 
 tutes his moral desert. And that effort, in the 
 nature of the case, must be his own. On the other 
 hand, when we regard man as part and parcel of 
 the order of nature, we find that the notion of end 
 applied to him from this point of view is altogether 
 illusory. Our desires, our volitions, are to be re- 
 garded as the effects of causes, quite as much as 
 the melting of wax under the effect of heat. The 
 fact that, in ordinary parlance, we use the term 
 "end" whenever the representation of the outcome 
 of an act precedes the act does not really justify the 
 use of that term. The process of volition is not 
 really teleological if the representation that pre- 
 cedes the act is itself the inevitable consequence of 
 a string of previous representations. From the 
 standpoint of the Kantian "Kritik," therefore, it 
 seems to me forbidden to speak of the natural 
 ends of man. As a natural being, he has no ends. 
 The notion of end applies to natural objects only by 
 way of analogy. It is intended to be used as a 
 kind of wishing-rod to help us in locating the spot 
 where we must dig for the gold of causes. It is only 
 a device designed to facilitate investigation. There 
 are no ends in nature. We merely conduct our in- 
 vestigations "as if" there were ends. Now my
 
 FELIX ADLER 359 
 
 criticism of Kant is that the proviso "as if," which 
 he couples with the notion of end in the "Kritik 
 of the Pure Reason," is omitted by him when he 
 speaks of man as a natural object in the *' Kritik of 
 the Practical Reason." And thus, without justi- 
 fication, abruptly, he confronts us with the notion 
 of the natural ends of our fellow-beings as the basis 
 for a scheme of positive altruistic duties. 
 
 I must content myself with barely mentioning, 
 in passing, that the iUicit notion of end, as applied 
 to man in his natural character, is also the un- 
 stable foundation whereon rests Kant's moral 
 theology. A God is needed in order to harmonize 
 the moral end and the so-called natural ends, to 
 distribute happiness in exact proportion to moral 
 desert. But if the basis of natural ends goes to 
 pieces, the superstructure of moral belief, which 
 has been erected upon it, likewise crumbles, and 
 new foundations will have to be supplied if it, or 
 anything hke it, is to be maintained. 
 
 The nobility, the force and the fire of the Kant- 
 ian ethics is contained in the proposition that no 
 human being may be treated merely as the tool of 
 another, merely as a means to another's end, but 
 shall ever be regarded as an end in himself. This 
 statement, to my mind, is the Alpha if not, as ortho- 
 dox Kantians have claimed, also the Omega of 
 morality. Unfortunately, I am compelled to think 
 that in putting forth this statement Kant's ethical 
 perception far outran his ethical theory, that the
 
 360 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 theoretic underpinning which he offers does not 
 really support this great practical pronouncement. 
 We hear much nowadays of the necessity of a return 
 to Kant. And I, too, beheve that a return to Kant 
 is necessary, at least for those who maintain that 
 there is an absolute element in morality, despite 
 the admitted relativity and changeableness of the 
 specific moral commands. Yes, a return to Kant, 
 but in the sense of taking up anew the problem 
 which he attempted, but failed, to solve ; in the sense 
 of trying by a new path to reach the goal which he 
 had in view, and which, it has become evident, can- 
 not be reached by the path which he pursued. He 
 has not justified the conception of an end in itself, 
 as applied to man. He could not do so because he 
 missed the organic idea from which alone the con- 
 ception of end or purpose can be derived.^ 
 
 * We hear the crash of a tree as it falls in the primeval forest. We see the 
 snow disengage itself from the brink of a precipice and tumble in powdery 
 cascades into the abyss below. The notion of purpose does not arise in con- 
 nection with such occurrences. We say "this thing has happened" ; that is 
 all. If we wish to go further, we ask " Why has this thing happened ? " What 
 are the causes that have produced this effect ? We see an erratic boulder in 
 the midst of a green field. We do not ask, " What end does it serve by being 
 here?" but " What are the forces that have brought it hither ? " Its being 
 there is the effect of a cause or causes. An effect is that which happens because 
 something else has previously happened. Shall we now define, by contrast, 
 that a means to an end is something which happens in order that some- 
 thing else may happen thereafter ? Kant takes this view of the relation of 
 means to ends, and hence infers that the notion of an end is essentially an an- 
 thropomorphic conception founded on the analogy of the purposeful action of 
 human beings. And this view is shared by the majority of those who have 
 written on the subject. Watch-making and house-building are the typical 
 examples of the adjustment of means to ends. The objects of nature, to which 
 the teleological view applies, says Kant, are to be regarded as if they were the 
 products of an intelligence like that of man, an intelligence in which the idea
 
 FELIX ADLER 361 
 
 And, lastly, the ethical system of Kant is individ- 
 ualistic because intellectualistic and rationalistic. 
 What he calls the rational nature is the element 
 
 of the resulting whole, present in a mind operating from the outside, precedes 
 and controls the arrangement and the speciBcation of the parts. But a more 
 thorough-going inquiry will make it manifest that this explanation is, in 
 reahty, a case of putting the cart before the horse, that, instead of the or- 
 ganic idea being an anthrojwmorphic analogy based on the purposeful action 
 of man, the reverse is true, namely, that the purposeful action of man is de- 
 pendent on, springs from and derives its meaning from the fact that he is an 
 organic being, or at least that he is controlled in his conduct by tlie organic 
 idea. The organic idea takes precedence. Our sep8»-ate puiposes are sec- 
 ondarj' to it, subservient to it, corollaries from it. Our simplest planful acts, 
 — the eating of food to satisfy hunger, the quenching of thirst, the kindhng of 
 fuel to sustain the warmth of the body, the erection of dwellings for the sake 
 of shelter, — all have reference to the functions of our body, i. e., of a system 
 of parts which are, at least to some extent, organically related. These voli- 
 tional acts of ours are purposeful because the functions which they subserve 
 are purposeful, that is, because the functions subserved are members of a 
 system of correlated functions. And of the highest examples of human pur- 
 pose in the realm of science, of art, and social conduct tlie same is still more 
 palpably true. The reciprocal dependence of intellect, feeUng, and will in the 
 individual, the organic connection between each individual and all others in 
 the social union is the background from which all these purposes stand out, 
 the underlying reference which they imply. Thus the Kantian definition 
 that the idea of the outcome of an act precedes the act is not adequate to char- 
 acterize purpose. If it were, then such idle doings as the deUberate pouring 
 of water through a sieve, or the heaping of sand on the beach in a vacant mo- 
 ment would be properly termed purposeful conduct, which they are not. The 
 notion of purpose involves not only that the idea of the outcome of what 
 happ)ens shall precede the happening, but that that outcome, whatever it be, 
 shall fit into a scheme of interdependent happenings. 
 
 Thus the organic idea, and it alone, enables us to substantiate Kant's fun- 
 damental ethical thought that man shall be regarded not only as a means but 
 also as an end. In an organic system every means is at the same time an end. 
 Every part subserves the others, and is served by them. The whole not only 
 presides over the arrangement of the parts, but is present in each part. For 
 the organic idea is nothing else than that complete fusion of the idea of the 
 one and the many, the source of which in the verj- constitution of the human 
 mind we have indicated above. The one is in each member of the manifold 
 because the plurality is but the explication of the unity, and each of the sepa- 
 rate members is indissolubly related to every other because every other is as 
 necessary to that complete explication as itself.
 
 362 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 of unity separated from its correlative, and man, so 
 far as he is a rational being, is considered as an 
 embodiment of this unity, a unit or atom, while 
 the rational commonwealth is an aggregate of such 
 atoms. Individualism was the keynote of eigh- 
 teenth century speculation, and the individualistic 
 tendency of the age found its most authoritative 
 expression in the Kantian philosophy. If addi- 
 tional proof, after what has been said, were re- 
 quired, it would only be necessary to cast a glance 
 at the "Tugendlehre,'* or "The Doctrine of Vir- 
 tue," in which Kant outlines the scheme of prac- 
 tical morality which springs from his theory. In 
 this practical exposition of the chief duties of life, 
 we find that the self- regarding duties receive 
 minute attention, that the general altruistic duties 
 are also carefully considered, while the specific 
 duties of the family, of the professions, of the 
 various social classes toward each other, etc., — 
 in brief, those duties which most obviously imply 
 an organic relation, a correlation of dissimilars 
 rather than a co-ordination of similars, are either 
 scantily treated or wholly omitted. The conju- 
 gal duties, for instance, do not appear at all in 
 this scheme of practical morality. The personal 
 duties are accentuated. The social duties, in the 
 strictest sense, are left out. And therefore the 
 Kantian system — and this is perhaps the weight- 
 iest objection that can be urged against it at the 
 present day — cannot adequately help us in devel-
 
 FELIX ADLER 363 
 
 oping the social conscience, cannot satisfy that 
 need which to-day is felt DQore keenly than any 
 other, the need of a social ethics, the need of a 
 clearer statement of the principles which shall de- 
 termine social morality. In his private life, too, 
 Kant displayed his individuahsm. He not only 
 never married, but he did not recognize, in a finer 
 sense, the ties of consanguinity. He discharged 
 punctually his external obhgations toward his kins- 
 men, but even his nearest, his brother and his 
 sister, he kept at a distance, as his biographer tells 
 us, in the behef that association should be a matter 
 of free choice, and not subject to the constraint of 
 natural bonds. Friendship, however, he celebrated 
 in terms almost as eulogistic as those of Aristotle, 
 friendship, the one social tie which is most congenial 
 to the spirit of individuahsts, because it can be 
 knit at pleasure and dissolved at pleasure. 
 
 These, then, are the objections or the points of 
 criticism which I have desired to submit. 
 
 In defining freedom, Kant tries to set off by 
 itself one of a brace of inseparable correlatives, to 
 cut with one of a pair of shears. 
 
 In positing mere empty necessity and universal- 
 ity as the essential characteristics of moral action, 
 he offers us the ghost or echo of natural law as 
 the motive of conduct and represents the cogency 
 which accompanies the synthetic process as if it 
 could exist with the synthetic process left out. 
 
 His scheme of moraUty, founded on pure ration-
 
 364 THE ETHICS OF KANT 
 
 ality, is in the air and has no footing upon earth. 
 There is no one to whom we can be certain that we 
 owe moral duty because there is no one of whom 
 we are certain that he is a rational being, in the 
 Kantian sense. 
 
 The moral rules cannot be deduced from the 
 Categorical Imperative, and the deduction which 
 Kant undertakes is based on the false assumption 
 of an equality between human beings, which does 
 not exist. 
 
 The conception of man as an end in himself, 
 which is the most inspiring of his pronouncements, 
 is at variance with the " Kritik of the Pure Reason," 
 and is not established by the *' Kritik of the Practical 
 Reason." It cannot be justified in his system. 
 
 Finally, his ethics is individualistic and cannot 
 serve us in our most pressing need at the present 
 day. And yet, despite these shortcomings, Kant's 
 ethics has sounded through the world with a clear, 
 clarion note, has had a mighty awakening influ- 
 ence, and something like the flashes of the light- 
 ning that played on Sinai have played about it. It 
 has had this influence because it emphasizes the 
 fundamental fact that the moral law is imperative, 
 not subject to the peradventure of inclination, of 
 temperament, of circumstance — an emphasis to 
 which every moral being, at least in his higher 
 moments, responds. It has had this influence be- 
 cause of the sublimity of the origin which he assigns 
 to the moral law, because he translates it from the
 
 FELIX ADLER 365 
 
 sphere of ephemeral utihties, whether individual- 
 istic or racial, into the region of eternal being, 
 comparable with nothing in the physical universe 
 except only the starry firmament. And last, and 
 not least, because his own lofty personality shines 
 through his wTitten words. A man may be bigger 
 than his creed, and, in the same way, he may 
 tower above his philosophy. I think it is true to 
 say that Kant's personality produces this effect 
 upon his readers, that when we study his ethical 
 writings we obtain the impression of one who w^as 
 fallible, indeed, and shared in many ways the 
 limitations of his time, but who, at the same time, 
 was a man morally high-bred, a man in whom 
 a certain chastity of the intellect communicated 
 itself to every faculty, producing a purity of the 
 entire nature, incomparable of its kind, a man to 
 whom may be applied the words which Aristotle 
 used of Plato, ov ovB alpelv toIctl KaKolcn Oefxi^; 
 ("whom the bad have not even the right to 
 praise").
 
 THE ABUSE OF ABSTRACTION IN 
 ETHICS
 
 THE ABUSE OF ABSTRACTION IN 
 ETHICS 
 
 By Herbert Gardiner Lord 
 
 Edward ayestermarck begins the first 
 
 chapter of his recent and able treatise on "The 
 Origin and Development of the Moral Ideas" 
 with a noticeable statement. He asserts "that the 
 moral concepts are ultimately based on emotions 
 either of indignation or approval." And again in 
 chapter six, in which he seeks to prove this prop- 
 osition, and as it seems to me without success, he 
 affirms that "either indignation or approval must 
 be at the bottom of every moral concept" (p. 131). 
 It is the purpose of the present paper to con- 
 sider the soundness of this doctrine ; but more than 
 this, to oppose that method of conceiving the moral 
 life of man, of which this contention of Wester- 
 marck is an example. It seems to the ^\Titer a 
 method quite \vrong from its abstractness, from its 
 doing violence to the complexity of real life. It 
 appears to be the unconscious and imperative tend- 
 ency of many minds, and often of a high order of 
 excellence, to find a unity in the rich manifold- 
 ness of human consciousness by the sacrifice of the 
 
 24 369
 
 370 ABSTRACTION IN ETHICS 
 
 concrete many to the abstract one. By attention 
 concentrated on one element, through over-em- 
 phasis on one aspect to the neglect of other aspects, 
 just as surely and just as much there, one comes 
 to misconceive the reality of life and misinterpret 
 it. This method of abstraction, the method of all 
 science, properly used, is of the highest worth. It 
 is an invaluable instrument for the handling of an 
 otherwise unmanageable complex reality. But in 
 using it one should be conscious of its true char- 
 acter: that it temporarily for convenience substi- 
 tutes aspects for totalities, elements for unities, 
 abstractions for complexities. It is a method of 
 manipulating the real ; it does not give us the real. 
 If it is practically useful to conceive of man's life 
 at any given time as fundamentally emotional, as 
 rational, as hedonistic, or as voluntaristic, why, so 
 then and there conceive it. But that conception of 
 it is abstract from and not the concrete whole. 
 
 Now it may be seriously questioned if most of the 
 various solutions of the moral problem do not have 
 this one fundamental error of erecting a convenient 
 abstraction into an adequate and complete repre- 
 sentation of the essential nature of man's ethical 
 life. When we start from this point of view and 
 examine many works on ethics, we discover a 
 certain confusion underlying the language of the 
 writers, or an utter unconsciousness of underlying 
 presuppositions that their words and conceptions 
 necessarily imply.
 
 HERBERT GARDINER LORD 371 
 
 This seems to be the case with Westermarck. 
 While we are aware of what he means to say, yet 
 when we examine more closely what he implies 
 in what he actually does say, we find that often 
 his implications come near contradicting his asser- 
 tions. For example, he speaks of "the phenomena 
 which evoke them" (the emotions of approval and 
 indignation) ; and again, '* the moral concepts 
 are essentially generalizations of tendencies in 
 certain phenomena to call forth moral emotions" 
 (pp. 4 and 5). If it be asked what possible mean- 
 ing the term "phenomena" can have as here used, 
 the reply must be that it must mean situation. And 
 situation is a term to express an ideational con- 
 struction. Phenomena cannot certainly mean the 
 bare sensations, arising from the stimuh, as little 
 as it can mean these stimuli themselves. These 
 phenomena that evoke, these situations to which 
 come those responses which are emotions of indig- 
 nation and approval, are ideal. They are the 
 conditions sine qua non of these responses. No 
 situations ideally constructed of just this sort, then 
 no emotions of just this kind evoked by them. 
 Why then cannot one say, why indeed must not 
 one say : the moral concepts are ultimately based 
 on ideal constructions ? for every emotion presup- 
 poses a judgment. In fact, when the concept named 
 by the term emotion is analyzed, and when we ask 
 what we mean by that word, we discover that 
 emotions as such have no existence except in and
 
 372 ABSTRACTION IN ETHICS 
 
 through ideational construction. They have no 
 separate or separable existence apart from ideas. 
 As the ideal constructions change they change. 
 Emotions get their distinctive qualities from the 
 ideas involved in them. 
 
 But let it be noted in passing that the attempt 
 is not made here to establish that the idea is the true 
 ultimate, that which must be found at the bottom, 
 of moral concepts. It is only pointed out that the 
 ideational has as valid a claim to be the true ulti- 
 mate as has the emotional ; that the very terms in 
 which the principle of Westermarck is stated imply, 
 if not the opposite of what he contends for, a serious 
 limitation on the truth of his doctrine. 
 
 Something should be said before going further 
 on the bearing of the question of the ultimate on 
 the problem of the nature of morality. If by ulti- 
 mate we mean the earliest discoverable form, we 
 seem to proceed by elimination of differences be- 
 tween earlier and later forms till we arrive at some 
 form which carries with it none of these differences. 
 This undifferenced thing we call ultimate. And 
 this is clearly non-moral. To say that our moral 
 concepts are ultimately based on these early non- 
 moral impulses, does not help us very much. It 
 helps us no more than to say our wisdom is based 
 on bare sensations, or even on the energy in the 
 form of the food we push into our mouths as Ost- 
 wald would have it. This is in a sense true. As no 
 food, no brains ; no brains, no sensations ; no sen-
 
 HERBERT GARDINER LORD 373 
 
 sations, no wisdom. But wisdom is not bread, and 
 mechanical impulse is not morality, though prior 
 to it and so ultimate in order of time. As soon as 
 we add a difference to this ultimate, we get another 
 ultimate, viz., this difference itself, and this second 
 ultimate is what constitutes morality as moral. 
 The nature of this difference when it appears is 
 learned by no search for its prior form. It had 
 no apparent prior form. It is a first of its kind. 
 Whence it came, how it came, is undiscoverable. 
 No formula of "tendency to variation," or "princi- 
 ple of differentiation," does more than with longer 
 and heavier words to state the simple fact that the 
 difference arrives, no man knows whence or how. 
 
 Ultimate, as earlier form, then, does not help us 
 much. But ultimate, as essential and profounder 
 characteristic difference, might help a good deal. 
 And when we ask what that difference is, we may 
 be better able to answer from later rather than 
 from earlier forms. The moral hero of the twentieth 
 century might take us farther and deeper into the 
 mystery of the essence of morality than our re- 
 motest arboreal ancestor with his caudal append- 
 age, even if we could catch him and dissect his 
 muddled consciousness. The consciousness of 
 the highly differentiated, exquisitely integrated 
 civilized man of to-day is the true revelation of the 
 ultimate nature of morality. In him will be found 
 most clearly marked off that peculiar difference 
 which distinguishes the ethical from all else. And
 
 374 ABSTRACTION IN ETHICS 
 
 that increasingly more clearly defined difference, 
 as it more and more in the past gave promise of the 
 clearer differentiation and more perfect integration 
 that has come, so this better defined difference of 
 to-day may prophesy something better for the 
 years to come. In this case ultimate would be 
 something ahead rather than something behind. 
 And the essential nature of morality will then 
 become for us something yet to be learned, as 
 certainly as it was to our earliest philosophic 
 ancestors. 
 
 Abandoning then the attempt to learn the nature 
 of morality from its earlier forms as a wholly futile 
 endeavor, we are driven for whatever light we can 
 get to the analysis of the developed moral conscious- 
 ness of to-day. In what has been said above, by 
 way of introduction, it has been clearly indicated 
 that while our method must necessarily be one of 
 analysis, that method has its perils. The abstrac- 
 tion of a single aspect of moral consciousness must 
 not be made identical with that moral consciousness 
 itself. 
 
 It has been pointed out that the ideational has 
 as valid a claim to be the ultimate of moral con- 
 sciousness as the emotional. Something further 
 may be urged on this point. If we may make use 
 of a classification of Mr. Rutgers Marshall, that as 
 there are on the one hand "instinct- actions," so 
 on the other there are "instinct-feelings," ^ we get a 
 
 ' " Instinct and Reason," p. 86.
 
 HERBERT GARDINER LORD 375 
 
 happily conceived way of representing the essential 
 fact of original psychic dispositions or impulses 
 toward certain psychic results. One of these is 
 toward cognitive organization, the systemization of 
 ideas, of percepts, and concepts. This impulse is 
 as deeply founded in consciousness as any other. It 
 is what is involved in intelligent learning by expe- 
 rience. W ithout this original push of consciousness 
 toward systemic ideal constructions, learning by ex- 
 perience would not be possible. And this impulse 
 by its very nature involves a sense of relations, a 
 placing of a given element here rather than there 
 in the system. And that gives us at once a sense of 
 Tightness that is quite purely cognitive, logical, or 
 rational, which in and of itself evokes cognitive or 
 logical approval. So we have an intellectual in- 
 tegrity, or honesty, that does not seem to wait on 
 emotional approval, but depends almost, if not quite 
 altogether, on what is often called a certain insight 
 of reason. Because of this original impulse to 
 systemization, or organization of consciousness 
 within, goes on the organization of things and per- 
 sons without. Persons get themselves related to one 
 another as members of a system. Their places and 
 functions are, as such members of such system, just 
 this and not that. It becomes a matter of rational 
 insight to fix their places and functions as in the 
 case of the relation of ideas. And this system 
 established carries with it a certain imperative. It 
 is, from this point of view, the imperative of an
 
 376 ABSTRACTION IN ETHICS 
 
 intellectual order, cognitive rather than emotional. 
 Things, actions, persons, must stand related just so 
 and not otherwise in the insight, which is also the 
 imperative of reason. 
 
 This is what we mean by justice in its abstract 
 forms. As between oneseK and another " the image 
 of an impartial outsider who acts as our judge" 
 is none other than this rational insight into the 
 relation existing between two who are cognitively 
 to each other just this and not anything else. It is 
 the vision of the actual reciprocity of the two. From 
 this comes the Golden Rule in its various forms: 
 "Love thy neighbor as thyself," *'Do unto others 
 as ye would be done by," "Put yourself in his 
 place." But, furthermore, even this simpler justice 
 necessitates the power not only to ** see yourself as 
 others see you," but even more adequately, and as 
 we say more justly, to put yourself where you belong 
 in a system of many, in which you not only count 
 for one and no more than one, but in which you 
 count for just that sort of one, fulfilling just that 
 sort of function, which your place in the ration- 
 ally conceived system involves or necessitates. 
 And this gives us a form of justice much more pro- 
 found and complex than that of the Golden Rule, 
 and requiring constructive imagination and rational 
 insight of the very highest order. And with this 
 insight goes necessarily an inevitableness, an in- 
 exorableness, and, as we say metaphorically, an 
 imperativeness, which no amount of twisting and
 
 HERBERT GARDINER LORD 377 
 
 intellectual thimble-rigging can avoid. The logic 
 of the system cannot be avoided any more than a 
 step in a mathematical demonstration. The system 
 constructed may be wrong, to be sure, but so long 
 as it stands, its parts, elements, or members are 
 placed and there is set over each of them the imper- 
 ative of the system in which they are members. 
 And it requires nothing but the rational insight 
 into the system to give one the sense of an inex- 
 orable imperative. Then righteousness, justice, or 
 what you will is for anyone, being that element in 
 that whole, just that member in just that system, 
 to perform his function wholly up to and never in 
 excess of the part assigned. Thus does a man 
 "fulfil all righteousness" as far as he is concerned. 
 
 In the practical morals of men this fundamental 
 impulse is everywhere in evidence. "Say what 
 we will," says Mr. Booker T. Washington, "there 
 is something in human nature which we cannot 
 blot out, which makes one man, in the end, recog- 
 nize and reward merit in another, regardless of 
 color or race." ^ This expression is typical of its 
 recognition semper, ubique et ah omnibus. That is, 
 when a man is seen rationally to be in his place in 
 the system and fulfilling his function therein, the 
 logical reason cannot help itself. Race and color 
 are to it irrelevances. 
 
 I would repeat here again my warning given 
 above. I am not the champion of an ultimate 
 
 • " Up from Slavery," p. 235.
 
 378 ABSTRACTION IN ETHICS 
 
 ideational as against an ultimate emotional basis 
 for morality. I am only wishing to make clear 
 that there is as much to be said for the intellectual 
 as for any other basis for morals. I do not wish 
 to seem to ignore my original thesis, that the fun- 
 damental error in the study of the problem of 
 morals is abuse of the abstractness of the method 
 necessarily employed. 
 
 It will only be necessary to mention with brevity 
 that the burden of the moral development of 
 man has in large measure rested on intelligence. 
 Through criticism of moral concepts in face of 
 well-nigh overpowering emotional hostility has the 
 progress of the race been effected. " The vis agens,^^ 
 it has been well said, *'in the long process of evo- 
 lution lies in the intellectual development of the 
 human race." ^ 
 
 This part of the discussion may be fitly closed 
 with a somewhat less abstruse treatment, by the 
 use of concrete illustration. If we take two ex- 
 tremes, the revengeful man wreaking vengeance 
 on the one who has wronged him, or the man of 
 utter self-sacrifice destroying himself for some 
 fantastic cause, we find alike in both emotional ap- 
 proval of an undoubted kind of their several acts. 
 It is intellectual darkness on the one hand, as 
 much as passion or emotion on the other, that ac- 
 counts for the conduct of each. More light, that is 
 better, more intelligent, ideal construction would 
 
 * Dr. Steinmetz quoted in Westermarck, p. 25.
 
 HERBERT GARDINER LORD 379 
 
 have saved the vindictive man from what is his 
 utter stupidity, as it would also have saved the 
 other equally foohsh creature from throwing his life 
 away for some trivial end, some mere freak of 
 fancy. Neither of these acts, however emotionally 
 approved, or passionately well-meant, can ever be 
 accepted as righteous, because they can never be 
 made to fit into a rational scheme, as elements of a 
 system constructed in and through the insight of 
 reason. 
 
 If again we go down to Wall Street or elsewhere 
 and consider the prevailing commercial ethics of 
 the day, we are struck with what is called the ab- 
 sence of fair play. What is called for is, in the 
 phrase made popular by President Roosevelt, "a 
 square deal." The concept so named, either as fair 
 play or a square deal, is really that in which per- 
 ception of relations plays the main part. It is an 
 intellectual process; the vision of reciprocity, my 
 relation to him like his relation to me. Exhortation 
 becomes more than persuasion, than emotional 
 excitement which it also is. It becomes forcing 
 upon the commercial community the perception of 
 the relation of its individuals to each other as 
 members of an organism with fixed imperative 
 functions determined by the system. And legis- 
 lation (slowly it may be) is framed with reference 
 to that rational insight. 
 
 If last we go from business to sport, we get an in- 
 teresting illustration. If the football player can
 
 380 ABSTRACTION IN ETHICS 
 
 think of himself as only a member of his own 
 team, whose sole function is to win games for his 
 college, any play that is a winning play becomes 
 wholly proper as relevant to that end. But if he 
 can be brought to think of himself as a member of 
 a larger whole, let it be of no more than the college 
 world at large, certain plays fair on the narrower 
 basis of his own college team, become at once unfair 
 and wrong. Whether certain plays will excite his 
 emotional approval or indignation depends then on 
 how he conceives of his team, whether of a larger 
 whole or system. And, lest in the heat of the con- 
 test the larger conception be driven out of his mind, 
 the umpire is there. This umpire invades the con- 
 sciousness of the excited player with the more 
 comprehensive ideal construction in accordance 
 with which certain plays have place and certain 
 others are ruled out. Just so far as the player is 
 trained in ignorance, or into neglect of the larger 
 ideal, he becomes, as is the phrase, no true sports- 
 man. On the other hand, just so far as he loses 
 himself in the mere passion for winning, plays be- 
 come emotionally condemned that lose the game, 
 or emotionally approved that win it, and a sneaking 
 resentment arises in him against the umpire, which 
 will not away till in cooler hours the larger ideal 
 system takes possession of consciousness and holds 
 sway by virtue of its very own reasonableness, and as 
 such evokes, — better, compels emotional approval 
 of itself. Then the umpire's decision becomes the
 
 HERBERT GARDINER LORD 381 
 
 very voice of that ideal system. Back of the umpire 
 stands this system, with its imperative, masterful 
 no more over umpire than over player. He finds 
 himself held, as in a vise, to a fixed right thing to 
 do in that system of which he sees himself a part. 
 
 But there are other elements that seem to possess 
 just as solid a claim for ultimateness in moral judg- 
 ments as either of these two so far considered. 
 There is the conative aspect of consciousness that 
 has a very decided claim. If we seek origins, as 
 first forms, we find consciousness arising as an in- 
 strument in practical adjustment. Sensational, 
 perceptual, ideational, emotional, indeed all modes 
 of consciousness may be regarded but as forms and 
 means toward adjustment of the psychophysical 
 organism to environment. Fundamental then 
 would be the push, to use a metaphor from phys- 
 ics, toward equilibrium; Herbert Spencer's "ad- 
 justment of inner relations to outer relations," 
 whatever that may mean. 
 
 On the inner side we find, corresponding to this 
 outer activity in adjustment, that there is, so to 
 speak, a current in consciousness. It moves, and 
 not generally in no particular, or in all directions, 
 but to one end, at first gropingly, at last more 
 and more knowingly and definitely determined. 
 This end may be called also adjustment, provided 
 this metaphor be not taken too literally and made 
 to walk on all fours. Or it may be called an inner 
 harmony of impulses or of the elements of con-
 
 382 ABSTRACTION IN ETHICS 
 
 sciousness. According to this conception all acts 
 of adjustment of the organism to its environment 
 are not ends but merely means to the attainment 
 of certain moments of consciousness, which are in 
 their time and place possessed of this harmony. 
 And, since consciousness is essentially itself a 
 moment, the end, if the word may be allowed, 
 is a succession of such moments, each moment of 
 harmony being antecedent to its consequent mo- 
 ment of harmony. By this end are all outward 
 acts and all inward processes finally controlled, 
 though more often than not with scant conscious- 
 ness of this end and of the means to attain it. This 
 is a way we may perhaps best represent to our- 
 selves the all-embracing central interest of human 
 mind. And as "interest," to quote Stout, "is co- 
 nation defining itself in cognition," we have, as 
 the ultimate fact of consciousness, a process, this 
 conation defining itself in cognition. This cona- 
 tion at length becomes a will set to attaining this 
 end, with increasing clearness defined in cognition. 
 It has a twofold character, it is set, on the one hand, 
 to ever clearer definition of end and means ; on 
 the other, to realization of this better defined end 
 through these better defined means. This form of 
 conation, this set of consciousness toward the unde- 
 fined end is "the will to believe." This set toward 
 the realization of the end so far as defined, through 
 the relevant means thereto so far as known, is the 
 will to be right.
 
 HERBERT GARDINER LORD 383 
 
 Here seems to be the very inmost sanctuary of 
 the human moral consciousness, the veritable ulti- 
 mate basis of morality. And in a sense it may 
 well be conceded, until one reflects that he is after 
 all looking at an aspect of a complex, is abstract- 
 ing not so much even as a part from a whole, nor 
 so much as an element from a compound, as he is 
 a mere aspect of a concrete whole. It is as though 
 he took the convexity of a curve as the curve, ignor- 
 ing its concavity and curvature as being each as 
 necessarily an essential aspect of it as any other. If 
 consciousness be conceived of as conation defining 
 itself in cognition, the very form of the conception 
 involves this definition of the process in cognition, 
 this cognitive aspect, as much as that conative as- 
 pect. That is to say, it is not the object of our re- 
 gard that is ultimately at bottom conation; it is 
 only our way of looking at it that makes it seem 
 so. If we go round and look from the other side, 
 our curve is concave, our ultimate of consciousness 
 is ideational. The concrete real is as much one as 
 the other, is both and doubtless more beside. 
 
 We may consider this claim for the ultimateness 
 of will in moral consciousness from another point 
 of view. Events that occur in the mechanical 
 order, whether external or internal, do not excite 
 the indignation or approval that we call moral. 
 They excite regret if disastrous, or the feeling of 
 good fortune if in one's favor. Events which evoke 
 the emotions of indignation or approval have fol-
 
 384 ABSTRACTION IN ETHICS 
 
 lowed upon, or have been themselves decisions (or 
 the absence of decisions where decisions should 
 have been. No decision to go, when go or stay 
 you must, is morally a decision not to go). These 
 decisions felt first in oneself, subjectively, and as 
 such (to borrow Clifford's term) "ejected" into 
 the alteVy constitute among others the most em- 
 phatic of the elements of personality. "The 
 deepest sense of human affairs is reached when we 
 consider them not as appearances, but as decisions," 
 is a remark of Professor Miinsterberg. 
 
 Now it is events as coming from decisions of 
 persons that give rise to moral approval or the 
 contrary. " Moral indignation is, in its essence, di- 
 rected toward the assumed cause of inflicted pain. " ^ 
 Again "Moral self-condemnation is a hostile atti- 
 tude toward oneself as a cause of pain." ^ The 
 cause is not a thing, a mechanism ; it is a personal 
 agent, oneself or another, whose act issues from 
 or is a decision given or omitted to be given. Ulti- 
 mately, then, it all turns, it might easily be claimed, 
 on a question of will. 
 
 When we approach the problem from the side 
 of emotions, one might draw much the same con- 
 clusions. There is, for example, all the difference 
 in the world between regret, even the bitterest, 
 for the inevitable, and remorse, no matter how 
 slight, for what might have been otherwise. And 
 that peculiar difference hes not so much in the 
 
 * " Westermarck," Loc. cit., p. 69. 
 ' Loc. cit., p. 105.
 
 HERBERT GARDINER LORD 385 
 
 difference between the emotions of regret and 
 remorse as such, great as that difference is. It 
 lies in the cause that differences these emotions, 
 in the absence or presence of some act of will. That 
 act of will might, indeed, not have altered the event, 
 but could have changed the attitude of one's mind 
 toward the inevitableness of it. A man might not 
 have been able to save his neighbor from drown- 
 ing, but he might have wished to, even have 
 willed to. And just in that attitude of will lies the 
 difference between regret and remorse, lies the es- 
 sence of morality, and not in the automatic emo- 
 tion following on the mental attitude. So it may- 
 seem clear that an act of will, a decision, " must be 
 at the bottom of every moral concept." These 
 concepts are generalizations based on acts of will. 
 
 But if one takes pains to consider the words 
 which he is compelled to use in expressing these 
 conceptions, he discovers that there is much im- 
 plied that seriously qualifies his main contention. 
 He recognizes that by decisions of agents he means 
 complex ideal constructions without which that 
 bare abstraction called an act of will could not 
 exist. He sees that he has pretty much repudiated 
 his doctrine of the ultimateness of will in moral 
 judgments in the very act of formulating it. 
 
 Approvals then follow on decisions, whether 
 these decisions become effective through the pre- 
 potence of certain ideal constructions over others, 
 or through some more obscure processes of con- 
 
 25
 
 386 ABSTRACTION IN ETHICS 
 
 sciousness. But what decisions ? decisions tending 
 toward and having reference to what end ? The 
 answer to this question brings into view a concep- 
 tion of the ultimate basis of morals that ever has 
 had, and perhaps always will have, many adher- 
 ents. They answer only those decisions that have 
 reference to the attainment of happiness and ever 
 can be, in the last analysis, approved of as right. 
 And in this contention appears an element or aspect 
 of consciousness which must be reckoned with. 
 If we go back to what has previously been said 
 concerning adjustment and the inner harmony 
 arising out of it, we may recall how all outer acts 
 of the organism and all inner processes of con- 
 sciousness are with reference to the attainment of 
 a harmony through successive moments of con- 
 sciousness. The persistence of this contention 
 throughout all the ages of reflection upon the na- 
 ture of the moral life is presumption enough that 
 there is in it something solid. The most careful 
 and thorough analysis will inevitably convince one 
 that here is indeed an indubitable fact to reckon 
 with, and to build on. The elements of emotional 
 approval or disapproval, of ideational construc- 
 tion, of practical adjustment, or voUtional deci- 
 sion, are no more efficiently there than this of the 
 hedonic tone of consciousness. That moment of 
 consciousness has value which is agreeably toned. 
 It is useless to deny this. Consciousness must ever 
 be hostile toward what tones it disagreeably, ever
 
 HERBERT GARDINER LORD 387 
 
 favorable toward what tones it pleasantly. No 
 more ultimate basis for morals, it seems to many, 
 can ever be discovered than this. The ethics of 
 the New Testament Scriptures, no less than of Aris- 
 totle, are constructed with reference to it. The 
 Sermon on the Mount begins with Beatitudes. 
 St. Paul \\Tites : " There remaineth therefore no 
 condemnation for them that are in Christ Jesus," 
 as if the removal of that disapproval which is the 
 sense of sin were the soul's main hunger. A later 
 New Testament writer speaks of Jesus as one 
 "who for the joy that was set before liim endured 
 the cross." And the eudsemonia of Aristotle con- 
 fesses unimpeachable presence of this element. 
 
 Yet it will become evident to one who more care- 
 fully considers that, true as this contention is, when 
 regarded from one point of view, it is yet false when 
 conceived too abstractly. There is to be sure in all 
 approved moments of consciousness an agreeable 
 tone, as in all curves there are convexities. But as 
 convexities vary so do hedonic tones. Hedonic 
 tone is as much an abstraction, having no more 
 existence apart from the concrete moments of 
 consciousness than any convexity has existence 
 apart from its curve. And as curves vary and so do 
 their convexities, thus also it is true that as mo- 
 ments of consciousness differ enormously in their 
 complexity so do their hedonic tones differ from 
 each other. There is no such thing as a generic 
 hedonic tone for consciousness. There are he-
 
 388 ABSTRACTION IN ETHICS 
 
 donic tones for concrete moments of conscious- 
 ness differing as one star from another. As there 
 is confessedly to be detected underlying conscious- 
 ness an hierarchy of impulses, giving rise to what 
 may as well be called an hierarchy of concepts or 
 cognitions, and of emotions, so also it may be felt 
 to give rise to an hierarchy of hedonic tones. It 
 is clear to anyone who carefully watches his own 
 successive psychoses, that the hedonic tone of any 
 one psychosis is not of equal value with that of some 
 other. He will become aware that psychoses differ 
 not only in complexity of structure but in quality 
 of hedonic tone, and that quality of hedonic tone is 
 determined by the character of the psychosis of 
 which it is a constituent, that as on the one hand it 
 helps to give character to that psychosis, so on the 
 other hand it receives quality from it. Thus the 
 end of psychical movement is not hedonic tone as 
 such, but that total complex psychosis of which 
 hedonic tone is only one of many constituent 
 elements. 
 
 But, again, whether the approval spring from 
 the agreeable tone, as it is so often assumed without 
 question, or on the contrary the agreeable tone 
 spring from the approval is open to serious ques- 
 tion. At any rate this much may be said. No 
 matter what other elements in any moment of 
 consciousness may tend to give it agreeable tone, 
 if there is not the element of approval, there is not 
 yet any deep, wide, and lasting pleasantness for
 
 HERBERT GARDINER LORD 389 
 
 consciousness. A flash of light here, a casual word 
 there, and it is gone. 
 
 " Just when we are safest, there *s a sunset-touch; 
 A fancy from a flower bell, some one's death, 
 A chorus-ending from Euripides, — 
 And that 's enough " 
 
 to bring the shock of disapproval, and with it dis- 
 agreeable feeling tone continues till disapproval 
 is removed or approval is won. If there be won 
 this approval other elements of disagreeableness, 
 however great, can be endured. The massive 
 movement of the complex unified consciousness 
 of a Socrates drinking hemlock, of a Jesus dying 
 on the cross, whatever strong eddies of pain there 
 be in it, is still toned agreeably, as it makes head 
 conqueringly toward that end which each has 
 ideally constructed as fit. And does not that tone 
 rest on the solid basis of approval whether cogni- 
 tive or emotional ? 
 
 In short a hedonistic ethic hiis its only possible 
 justification in an abstraction that does violence 
 to the actual concrete complexity of the moral con- 
 sciousness of man. It is true as an aspect of a 
 unity is true. But it is not all that is true. It is 
 not even the unifying centre of all that is true. 
 
 Before bringing this discussion to a close, it 
 seems proper to take some more comprehensive 
 view of the matter than has so far been definitely 
 attempted, though all along of course it has been 
 imphed. Perhaps this can be as well done by
 
 390 ABSTRACTION IN ETHICS 
 
 using the concept of situation of which use was made 
 early in this paper. It was there observed that in 
 Westermarck's expression "phenomena that call 
 forth moral emotions," phenomena could mean 
 nothing else than situation. And it was still further 
 observed that situation is a name for an ideational 
 construction. I want here at once to reaffirm that 
 statement and to modify it. Situation is an idea- 
 tional construction, but it is both more and other 
 than that. To understand what that is to which we 
 respond, what phenomena are that call forth emo- 
 tions, or evoke actions, there is needed careful 
 study of the mode in which situations are built up. 
 Bringing to bear on the matter the hght of ge- 
 netic psychology, we discover that the simple object, 
 if there be any really simple object, in its first 
 form as mere stimulus followed by certain conse- 
 quences in consciousness of cognition, hedonic 
 tone, and so forth, does not continue simple ob- 
 ject. It becomes an increasingly complex object 
 for consciousness, to which consciousness itself 
 gives that character to which its responses are made. 
 And this object is not built up of cognitions only. 
 In it are fused with cognitions, conative, hedonic, 
 and emotional elements. Because of this the ob- 
 ject becomes to us in itself actually an agreeable 
 object, because the object put out there by con- 
 sciousness evokes agreeable feeling tone. In the 
 same manner we get painful situations. These 
 are not groups of sensations, or perceptions, fol-
 
 HERBERT GARDINER LORD 391 
 
 lowed by certain consciously separated results 
 from certain clearly distinct antecedents. They 
 are certain total mass objects, called situations, 
 to which we react. They are highly complex con- 
 structions, the elements of which are not merely 
 cognitive, but are as well emotional, hedonic, co- 
 native. The original simple object so quahfied by 
 this fusing becomes an altogether different object. 
 It becomes, perhaps, an unjust act of oneself or 
 another. This unjust act, as a total complicated 
 situation, compacted of many elements, arouses 
 indignation, not necessarily or often perhaps be- 
 cause of any definite consciousness of this, that, 
 or the other element, but as a total mass. To its 
 upbuilding have gone not primarily merely emo- 
 tions of indignation, but other modes of conscious- 
 ness, actions of will and body, cognitions, whether 
 sensations, perceptions, or ideas, feeling tones of 
 various kinds, massed, packed into what we might 
 call figuratively a soHd. And that soHd object, so 
 built up, and present in any moment of conscious- 
 ness, determines the movement of consciousness, 
 fixes the character of the consequent psychosis. 
 Not any one element by itself, for the time pre- 
 potent, fixes that character. The vast underworld, 
 of submerged manifold elements of past varied 
 experience, on the bosom of which, borne up by 
 its mass, floats this prepotent element, gives to it 
 its character. It is what it is, and is powerful for 
 consequent movements of consciousness and ac-
 
 392 ABSTRACTION IN ETHICS 
 
 tion, because of the deeps on the surface of which 
 it appears as shifts the focus of consciousness over 
 the wide jfield of inattention, which wide field is 
 ever the most controUing part of consciousness. 
 
 This being so, it seems to me quite absurd to 
 pick out any one now- and- again prepotent element 
 of consciousness, and call it ultimate ; or again to 
 abstract out an undeniable element thrown for a 
 moment up out of the deeps forcefully upon the 
 attention, and say of it, this is what constitutes 
 righteousness. One may say it is always an ele- 
 ment in, now prepotent, and again more or less 
 subconscious, never the one element that consti- 
 tutes righteousness. Happiness is there, adjust- 
 ment is there, reason is there, emotional approval 
 is there; now this one more apparent than that 
 one; but never any one without the others in the 
 right life. 
 
 To be sure, because of the limitations of human 
 faculty, the necessity is upon us to seize the world 
 in its fragmentary almost isolated elements, or to 
 think only through over emphasis on certain as- 
 pects. In the cart-wheel, the hub may seem to be 
 more fundamental for thought than spokes, or 
 felloes, or tire, since we drive our spokes into the 
 hub, set round and on these the felloes and encircle 
 these again with the tire. But really the wheel is 
 all these, and without any of them it is not the 
 wheel. Its unity is not in any one of its parts ; so 
 is it with consciousness, its unity is not in, and
 
 HERBERT GARDINER LORD 393 
 
 cannot be adequately stated in terms of any one 
 of its elements or aspects. We may talk about 
 the keystone of the arch, but we know that is a 
 convenient falsification of the fact, that each stone 
 counts as much in the whole as the keystone. So 
 we may talk about adjustment, or happiness, or 
 emotion, as fundamental elements of righteous- 
 ness ; but if we are wise, while we so speak we shall 
 recollect that this is but a convenient abstraction 
 to help our lame understandings, and that it falsi- 
 fies the rich complexity of reality. 
 
 But if one would wish some more perfect form 
 of conceiving this ethical life of man than this con- 
 venient way of taking a part for the whole, tempo- 
 rarily prepotent aspects for the unity, doubtless 
 nothing has ever been discovered more wholly 
 satisfactory, though difficult through vagueness, 
 than the Greek conception of harmony. Its very 
 vagueness perhaps makes it more adequately rep- 
 resentative of the complicated reality of what would 
 be the wholly righteous soul. There would be in 
 it at once the logical consistencies of rational sys- 
 tems, the profound congruities of emotional con- 
 cords, the orderly behaviors of ethical rectitudes, 
 all organized into a higher morality than that of 
 common speech — a morality inclusive of all the 
 motions of consciousness and all the acts of body. 
 It would be a harmony in which the contentions 
 of the artist against the mere moralist, of the prac- 
 tical man against the philosopher, would at last
 
 394 ABSTRACTION IN ETHICS 
 
 be reconciled. To be sure this is sufficiently vague. 
 But even so it is better descriptive of the facts than 
 the erection of any abstract aspect into the repre- 
 sentative of the manifold wealth of the concrete 
 whole. We ought not, in the interest of clearness, 
 to sacrifice truth.
 
 purposrt: consistency, the outline 
 of a classification of values
 
 PURPOSIVE CONSISTENCY, THE OUTLINE 
 OF A CLASSIFICATION OF VALUES 
 
 By G. a. Tawnet 
 
 L^ONSISTENCY we have elsewhere defined as 
 the property of reflective activities by virtue of 
 which they tend to keep up and maintain them- 
 selves. It is both a passion, a form of things in 
 the objective world, and a mode of action. Its 
 original roots lie deep down in the pre-reflective 
 immediate experience of very young children and 
 lower animals, in the capacity for pleasant and 
 unpleasant emotions, and in those instinctive 
 and impulsive modes of action which, without 
 the primitive individual being in the least aware 
 of the fact, tend to maintain the species of which 
 he is a part. Sentient activity everywhere displays 
 purpose. It is purposeful; but in pre-reflective 
 immediate experience it is so only to the outside 
 scientist who looks on and studies it. Through 
 the exercise of the sense organs and the nervous 
 system and by carrying out their instincts and 
 impulses, individuals and species develop con- 
 certed modes of co-ordinated and co-operative 
 conduct calculated to preserve species and im- 
 
 S97
 
 398 PURPOSIVE CONSISTENCY 
 
 plying the same or similar thoughts, passions, and 
 psychic organization in all. They acquire an 
 acquaintance with their environments and with 
 their own bodily powers and members which guides 
 and controls them in the search for food and 
 shelter, in carrying on offensive and defensive 
 battle and in other congenital and acquired modes 
 of conduct. They cannot, however, be said to 
 reason. They are only acquainted with things, 
 they do not know about them. They "think 
 things" and are unable to stand off and judge 
 them. Their ideas are simply and straightway 
 joined to the muscular movements which they 
 initiate. Pre-reflective experience is not deliber- 
 ate. It is not organized, as reflective experience 
 is, by a consciousness of relations, or by that dis- 
 tinction between subject and object which under- 
 lies things and their attributes. Objectivity and 
 universality do not exist here and questions of 
 validity do not arise. There is consequently no 
 difference between facts and values at this stage. 
 Knowledge, in the logical sense of the word, does 
 not exist. Such selection of ideas as takes place is 
 determined by associations of pleasantness and 
 unpleasantness in the experiences of the past, by 
 suggestions received from the activities of other 
 individuals, and by the congenital instincts and 
 impulses of species toward the satisfaction of 
 which the individual organism is characteristically 
 bent.
 
 G. A. TAWNEY 399 
 
 The unit of this pre- reflective experience should 
 not be conceived as the reflex arc of biology and 
 psychophysics, a process which begins with a 
 stimulus and ends with muscular movement. We 
 should conceive the simplest form and type of 
 experience, more adequately than Mr. Spencer, 
 as an act which returns upon and maintains itself 
 by renewing its own stimulus. For Spencer, ex- 
 perience in every sense of the word is a sort of 
 epiphenomenon of organic processes of the form 
 defined by the reflex arc. We are warranted in 
 thinking of experience as a spiral activity which 
 without interruption returns upon itself at higher 
 and higher levels. In pre-reflective experience it 
 does so without deliberation. But there naturally 
 comes a time when individuals and species become 
 aware of such self-maintaining acts as their own, 
 when they experience experience, and the expe- 
 rience of experience preserves the form of the 
 more primitive and elementary activity. The 
 task of tracing out the natural history of this 
 growth has been undertaken by the sciences of 
 genetic psychology and sociology. When this step 
 of growth takes place, the original spiral process 
 of early experience appears as a continuous mani- 
 fold of most interesting properties. It breaks 
 up into arcs or segments each of which shortly 
 appears to be a world. Corresponding to the 
 stimulus there is a world of presentations. The 
 individual and his kind are aware of themselves
 
 400 PURPOSIVE CONSISTENCY 
 
 as occupying places in an objective order of things. 
 Corresponding to the habitual movements and 
 motor processes of primitive experience, with 
 their forms of co-ordinated and co-operative ac- 
 tivity, there arises a universal practical order in 
 which the very being of each depends upon the 
 maintenance of certain relations to others. The 
 purposefulness which lay hidden, so to speak, in 
 the capacity for pleasantness and unpleasantness 
 ripens into a sense of consistency and a conscious 
 demand that the world of reflective experience be 
 maintained. The harmony between certain ob- 
 jective forms and our habits of perception and 
 attention becomes an experience of beauty. The 
 contributions made by objects to the satisfaction 
 of instinctive and impulsive needs give content 
 to a world of economic values. The uniqueness 
 of reflective experience itself becomes the ground 
 for an order of absolute values. Each arc of the 
 spiral of primary experience acquires properties, 
 differentiation, and organization from all the 
 points of view supplied by secondary or reflective 
 experience. 
 
 We shall call the organization of the world of 
 presentation its constitutive consistency, because 
 this order constitutes it an independent and self- 
 maintaining universe. Its laws and categories 
 are in no sense of the word made by the knowledge 
 of them. They exist to be discovered. The con- 
 tinuous manifolds of time, space, similarity, and
 
 G. A. TAWNEY 401 
 
 implication which obtain in the universe are a 
 priori and universal. Hence such orders as are 
 represented by the terms subject and object, thing 
 and attributes, essential and accidental properties, 
 and hence also the manifold relations of corre- 
 spondence which make those substitutions possible 
 in which the life of reason and science consists. 
 
 We shall call the order and organization of the 
 world as a sphere of conduct its practical con- 
 sistency and observe that this also is universal, 
 objective, and necessary. The prejudices and 
 preferences of individuals make no actions either 
 good or bad. Forms of conduct must be such 
 that they may and do enter into all experience 
 and possess a moral quality in independence of 
 all individuals, or they have no place in the uni- 
 verse of practical consistency. The organization 
 of such a universe, necessary as it is to reflective 
 experience, possesses an unconditional form which 
 is not derived from the content of experience, how- 
 ever dependent upon the content of experience 
 for a knowledge of it we may be. 
 
 Similarlv we shall call the or^^^anization of the 
 world of needs and passions its purposive con- 
 sistency, and observe that it also possesses an un- 
 conditional form imposed upon it a priori, so to 
 speak, by the nature of reflective experience. Just 
 as there are various sorts of constitutive and prac- 
 tical consistency so also there is variety in pur- 
 posive consistency, the artistic and aesthetic, the 
 
 £6
 
 402 PURPOSIVE CONSISTENCY 
 
 economic and utilitarian, perfection and unique- 
 ness in objects and in reflective experience as a 
 whole. In the remainder of this paper we propose 
 to make a brief study of various sorts of purposive 
 consistency. 
 
 It must be remembered that these three types 
 are aspects of every experience rather than essen- 
 tial characters of distinct and separate groups of 
 objects. We fiind the world of presentation to be 
 systematic and ordered, and in knowledge we 
 wish to have clearly stated the exact conditions 
 under which each truth holds. Exactness is neces- 
 sary before knowledge can be of any use in the 
 control of further experience. Moreover, we need 
 an idea of the object as a whole before the claims 
 of constitutive consistency are satisfied. In the 
 realm of conduct, the right, duty, and the good 
 apply respectively to conduct as objective and 
 presented, to the moral agency of the individual 
 and to the ends of moral action. Beauty is a 
 quality of the same world whose constitutive order 
 is the object of supreme interest to the special 
 sciences ; economy and utility quahfy experience 
 practically; perfection and uniqueness of individ- 
 uality qualify purposively the manifold of passion 
 itself. 
 
 Let us take for example the activities involved 
 in some scientific experience such as the writing 
 of history. They must in the first place be system- 
 atic, accurate, and thoroughly in keeping with the
 
 G. A. TAWNEY 403 
 
 demand for constitutive consistency, and before 
 they can be said to be thorough-going and com- 
 plete they must comprehend ultimate postulates 
 and causal explanations. The entire picture 
 should rise out of the background of nature in such 
 a way as to leave no real questions in that field 
 unanswered. Moreover, the investigator of his- 
 tory is also in some sense a maker of history, and 
 it is conceivable that he should be making history 
 in some other way. The needs of his family or 
 those of his country might be such as to make 
 the investigation of historic questions under the 
 circumstances morally or legally ^vrong. In any 
 case his activity is either right or wrong, he is 
 either fulfilling or failing to fulfil his duty as an 
 agent, and his conduct on the whole either con- 
 tributes or fails to contribute to the realization of 
 that ultimate good which is a good for all man- 
 kind. Moreover, his efforts will not receive our 
 unqualified approval unless they please the aesthetic 
 taste, satisfy the claims of utility and economy, 
 and appear as demanded by that uniqueness of 
 purpose which is a man's highest claim to worth. 
 Thus some nine varieties of value arise when the 
 original cycle of immediate experience becomes 
 the objective arc of another experience. 
 
 Indeed, each of these varieties of value has two 
 phases determined by the degree of organization, 
 the adequacy of the technique of judgment, in 
 the particular field of each. Some problems fall
 
 404 PURPOSIVE CONSISTENCY 
 
 so completely within the rubrics of a special tech- 
 nique of judgment that the solution can easily be 
 reached by simply setting that technique in oper- 
 ation. Thus the moral and legal institutions of 
 society may be adequate to solve any given ques- 
 tion of practical consistency. Where they do not 
 do so we must fall back upon some such concep- 
 tion as sovereignty of moral order or of the state 
 for the solution of questions of right and wrong, 
 upon some such conception as freedom or auton- 
 omy for the solution of questions of duty, and 
 upon some such conception as a rational social 
 universe to solve questions relating to the good. 
 
 Where such questions are legal in nature they 
 involve the philosophy of law and government, 
 but if they are of such nature as to fall clearly 
 within the moral sphere, they become religious in 
 character and we appeal to an ideal infallible 
 judgment. Similarly in the sphere of constitutive 
 consistency, when technique fails we try to decide 
 questions of uniformity and order analytically by 
 the law of identity, questions of exactness by some 
 such principle as conservation, and questions of 
 completeness and explanation by the purposive 
 principle of isolation. We proceed analytically 
 and speculatively and our solutions are neces- 
 sarily tentative, serving as hypotheses to guide us 
 in the further investigation of problems. In the 
 end the technique of science may be revised or 
 extended to meet the needs of new problems.
 
 G. A. TAWNEY 405 
 
 Once more, in the realm of purposive consistency, 
 when the technique of art fails to furnish adequate 
 solutions of problems, when the conventional 
 models and standards of criticism fail, the artist 
 is thrown back upon the original aesthetic taste 
 of reflective experience and his judgment must be 
 offered as an invasion for the approval or disap- 
 proval of his contemporaries. In the sphere of 
 economics, the inventor has no guide but the 
 general principle of utility. When our problem 
 relates to the perfection or individuality of an ex- 
 perience and conventional standards do not apply, 
 we have nothing to guide us to a decision except 
 the sense and sentiment of absolute uniqueness, 
 which is perhaps the profoundest craving of human 
 life. 
 
 Many attempts have been made in the past to 
 construe the principles of practical consistency as 
 constitutive. Ever since the Stoics formulated 
 their conception of law as a thing both natural 
 (or constitutive), rational, and divine, writers 
 have been inclined to say that moral laws and 
 other principles of practical consistency are laws 
 of nature and therefore more ultimate and au- 
 thoritative than laws of society. The jiis iiaturalis 
 of Roman law and of the founders of modern 
 jurisprudence, the philosophy of right of Althusius, 
 Grotius, Ilobbes, Rousseau, and the American Dec- 
 laration of Independence, the wTitings of such men 
 as Emerson and Maeterlinck, the doctrine of the
 
 406 PURPOSIVE CONSISTENCY 
 
 equivalence of values and that of the unlimited 
 increase of values, — these and many more serve 
 to remind us of the extent to which principles of 
 practical consistency have been construed as con- 
 stitutive principles of the natural world. But 
 this tendency is without foundation in the experi- 
 ence of the race. It is also unwarranted by a 
 critical study of the differences between the prin- 
 ciples of nature and those of conduct. The former 
 are constitutive while the latter are demanded. 
 The former represent forms of existence without 
 which no such thing as a natural world can be or 
 be conceived. The latter hold the same relation 
 to social order that the former hold to natural 
 order, but a natural order is conceivable entirely 
 apart from the idea of a social order. Writers 
 sometimes speak of the principles of practical 
 consistency as spiritual laws and call them self- 
 executing. Emerson frequently writes in this 
 vein. But the laws of practical consistency are 
 not self-executing in any such sense as the laws of 
 constitutive consistency. In the case of the latter 
 there is a literal and physical carrying out of the 
 letter of the law which has no correspondent in 
 the sphere of duty. 
 
 It is just this difference between these two kinds 
 of consistency which gives rise to the moral argu- 
 ment for the existence of God in the practical 
 philosophy of Kant, and which has led others to 
 conceive a sort of pseudo- constitutive moral order
 
 G. A. TAWNEY 407 
 
 superimposed upon nature. Indeed, what is the 
 notion of a divine government of the world but an 
 extension of the same idea ? There is no constitu- 
 tive principle which provides that the practical 
 values of conduct shall be met and equated in 
 life by corresponding degrees of happiness, or 
 that the possibility of growth in practical values 
 is unlimited, and yet there is something in the 
 form of reflective experience which demands that 
 such an equation and such a possibihty shall be 
 real. Hence the existence of God to bring it about, 
 hence the immortality of the soul, and hence the 
 entire scheme of divine government and the plan 
 of salvation which grows out of it. Most people 
 who believe in the creeds of Christendom do not 
 distinguish between the manner of the existence 
 of nature and that of the divine government of the 
 world, except to say that the latter is more perma- 
 nent than the former, and this gives rise to a whole 
 series of questions as to the possibility of the 
 existence of souls without bodies and without the 
 natural order of which bodies form a part, ques- 
 tions as to the process of resurrection and the 
 character of the punishment which in the spirit 
 world each must undergo for the sins done in the 
 body. The plain truth seems to be that the 
 practical order of values is not constitutive and this 
 entire mediaeval world-drama necessarily retains 
 something of the character of a philosophical 
 poem. It is sometimes taken as a matter of sur-
 
 408 PURPOSIVE CONSISTENCY 
 
 prise that the main features of this poem do not 
 admit of demonstration on the principles of con- 
 stitutive consistency. 
 
 It is often held that the deeper categories of 
 science, the organizing concepts of the world of 
 presentation, are all aesthetic. Completeness and 
 order are certainly two of the forms of constitu- 
 tive consistency, two of the characters of the world, 
 and they as certainly enter as normative principles 
 into aesthetics and art. Exactness is not so easy to 
 construe as an aesthetic demand, and exactness 
 is the main bone of contention between the schools 
 of realism and idealism in modern art. 
 
 There is, however, a difference in kind between 
 scientific order and completeness on the one hand 
 and aesthetic order and completeness on the other. 
 The former are constitutive, necessary to the bare 
 existence of a world of reflective experience, while 
 the latter are, if not gratuitous, at least not essen- 
 tial to the concept of a world of presentation. 
 Moreover, scientific order is abstract and occupies 
 the focus of interest, while the order and com- 
 pleteness of aesthetic experience are marginal and 
 concrete. One might say that the latter are 
 subliminal. When we fix our attention upon the 
 relations of order and completeness in objects of 
 aesthetic value, we cease to be appreciators of beauty 
 and become scientific analysts, philosophers of 
 beauty. 
 
 Scientific conceptions undoubtedly satisfy a fun-
 
 G. A. TAWNEY 409 
 
 damental demand of reflective experience. We 
 are gratified by them. But the satisfaction is 
 different in quality from that of contemplating 
 beautiful objects. The gratification of scientific 
 conceptions is an assurance of ease in the further 
 activities of experience, a confidence of facility in 
 carrying out further tasks of reflection. The grati- 
 fication of aesthetic contemplation does not point 
 beyond the present moment. It would be complete 
 if there were no future. It is essentially the satis- 
 faction of repose. The corresponding uneasinesses 
 in the presence of disordered manifolds are like- 
 wise different from each other. That of the 
 scientist calls for active interest in the mani- 
 fold itself. That of the aesthete rather calls for 
 negation and exclusion. The scientist proceeds 
 to bury himself in the manifold in order that 
 he may find himself there again. The aesthete 
 proceeds to save himself by damning the whole 
 situation and turning elsewhere for consolation. 
 To the one we react positively. To the other, 
 negatively. 
 
 The methods of enjoyment in the two cases are 
 different. Scientific triumphs are seen to be such 
 only as we look away from and beyond particular 
 concrete objects and contem})late a range of ex- 
 periences which could not possibly be presented. 
 Objects of aesthetic appreciation themselves ab- 
 sorb all our eyes and concretely satisfy our ideal 
 needs. The test of scientific values lies in their
 
 410 PURPOSIVE CONSISTENCY 
 
 consistency with further and further facts, while 
 the test of aesthetic values hes in the direct enjoy- 
 ment of them. It is like the test of pudding, except 
 that this lies within the capacity of the individual 
 while the test of beauty involves the possible uni- 
 versal enjoyment of it. Scientific order remains 
 forever a triumph. Each moment of further ex- 
 perience is an opportunity of applying our inter- 
 pretations anew and anew realizing their worth. 
 ^Esthetic value on the other hand does not end- 
 lessly satisfy. It grows trite and langweilig with 
 too great familiarity. 
 
 We cannot look upon the attempt to reduce 
 the categories of constitutive consistency to aesthetic 
 terms as anything but a step toward confusion. 
 It brings out strongly the fact that some of the 
 fundamental categories of science are purposive, 
 but in the interest of both aesthetics and epis- 
 temology we should like to see the difference be- 
 tween aesthetic order and scientific order more 
 generally recognized. There are certain purposive 
 scientific formulations which hold places of fun- 
 damental importance but are nevertheless neither 
 axiomatic nor demonstrable. When we ask for 
 their justification it appears that they cannot be 
 deduced from anything more general than they 
 are and that they do not admit of empirical proof. 
 The universality of causal relations, the dictum 
 de omne et nullo, the doctrine ex nihilo nihil fity 
 the postulates of the different geometries, the
 
 G. A. TAWNEY 411 
 
 definitions of number, the notion that nature is a 
 closed system and the doctrines of conservation 
 based upon this notion when taken together wath 
 the law of equivalence, the laws of motion, the 
 principle of cosmic teleology', the physical concepts 
 of mass, force, and acceleration, the notions of 
 continuous space, time, substance, and motion, 
 the laws of identity and sufficient reason, — what 
 are they all but demands which the bare existence 
 of a world of presentation makes upon our logic? 
 They are necessary to the world, forms without 
 which there could be no such world, forms with- 
 out which there could be no such thing as judg- 
 ment, but forms whose validity can be established 
 neither by experiment nor by analysis. If we 
 seem to establish any one by these methods it 
 will always be found either that the verification 
 starts with and rests upon some other one, which 
 is not verified, or that it is established in an hypo- 
 thetical form which shows its essentially pur- 
 posive character. At bottom they are forms of 
 continuity and order which precede rather than 
 follow inference, postulates, not results of thought. 
 They are purposive elements of constitutive con- 
 sistency, demands for integrity, completeness and 
 wholeness in the objects of reflective experience. 
 If in science we abjure all such postulates and by 
 a tour de force confine our attention to matters of 
 exact description, after the manner of the positiv- 
 istic theory of knowledge, we leave the demand
 
 412 PURPOSIVE CONSISTENCY 
 
 for integrity unsatisfied. Science becomes a thing 
 of shreds and patches and the world, a mangled 
 body whose bleeding stumps of legs and arms 
 cry out for finger- tips and toes. The order 
 and completeness of science are akin to those of 
 sesthetics, first cousins perhaps, but they are not 
 the same. 
 
 Similarly in the sphere of conduct and practical 
 consistency, attempts are made to regard the fun- 
 damental categories of ethics and jurisprudence 
 as aesthetic. Practical values are sometimes iden- 
 tified with grace and culture. The great names 
 of Goethe and Plato are connected with this view 
 as well as the lesser ones of Shaftesbury, Hutche- 
 son, Herbart, and others. They emphasize the 
 sense of fitness in man, the eternal fitness of things, 
 and the ontological character of moral and natural 
 laws. Immorality is worse than a crime, it is in 
 bad taste, it is a blunder. This makes ethics 
 purely a science of ends and a branch of aesthetics, 
 as Herbart treated it. There can be no doubt 
 that every act, object, and institution in the world 
 can be regarded from the aesthetic point of view, 
 but the question is whether aesthetic categories 
 are fundamental in ethics and jurisprudence, 
 whether the order of practical consistency is essen- 
 tially an aesthetic order. That it is not and that 
 the two orders are fundamentally different seems 
 certain in the light of the fact that practical con- 
 sistency is everywhere demanded while aesthetic
 
 G. A. TA\\^NEY 413 
 
 order and purposive consistency in general are not. 
 The forms of purposive consistency define limits 
 at which practical experience would cease. The 
 sentimental yearning for absolutely complete and 
 perfect experience is like the tropism of the moth 
 for the candle-flame, a yearning for a nirvana of 
 unconsciousness in which the struggle of practical 
 life shall have ceased. Struggle, change, and re- 
 adjustment belong to the essence of practical ex- 
 perience, and a world of pure beauty, of perfect 
 utility and economy, or of absolute individuality 
 and perfection would be a world of nothingness. 
 Hence the comfort of the exhortation of Rabbi Ben 
 Ezra, "Welcome each rebuff that turns earth's 
 smoothness rough, each sting that bids nor sit nor 
 stand, but go." 
 
 Imagine a society of people of perfect culture 
 (if you can) mercifully removed and shut off from 
 the rest of the world in a place of perpetual music, 
 artistic landscape pictures, and ideal architecture, 
 a place where people talk poetry and live in 
 rhythms of aesthetic gratification and repose, a 
 place with no sins, no tobacco, no police, no strikes, 
 no poverty, and no wars, a place where men be- 
 come as children, taking no thought. Then in 
 accord with the poet's injunction to his stranded 
 crew, 
 
 *' Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind, 
 In the hollow lotus land to live and lie reclined 
 On the hills like gods together, careless of mankind."
 
 414 PURPOSIVE CONSISTENCY 
 
 How long would it be before the strenuous life 
 would claim us by its very brutality and misery? 
 How certainly would the order of practical con- 
 sistency disappear and life sink to a dead monotony 
 of boredom. Practical consistency is demanded. 
 That of aesthetics is like a pure gift of the 
 gods. It is merely enjoyed. Practical consist- 
 ency is categorical. That of aesthetics is a mat- 
 ter of taste and culture. Practical consistency 
 is achieved by struggle and enjoyed in struggle. 
 That of aesthetics is ruined by struggle and en- 
 joyed in repose. Practical goods are ends to be 
 possessed, ends which we are bound to possess. 
 ^Esthetic goods are detached and their enjoyment 
 does not involve possession. The latter are such 
 that their possession is often not to be conceived. 
 The practical world is profoundly serious. Its 
 atmosphere is the atmospheres of the street, the 
 workshop, and the laboratory, when these are 
 tinged with reverence. The aesthetic world on the 
 other hand is a world of semblance and make- 
 believe. Its atmosphere is that of the play-house, 
 its attitudes are the attitudes of children at their 
 games. 
 
 The purposive category of perfection cannot 
 be made fundamental in ethics and jurisprudence 
 without giving us a sentimental theory of prac- 
 tical consistency. No one can live by it without 
 growing "self-centred" and missing that fine gra- 
 ciousness of character and beneficent eflSciency of
 
 G. A. TAWNEY 415 
 
 conduct which are fruits of practical consistency. 
 Absolute perfection is incompatible with finitude. 
 It is the name of nothing which enters into prac- 
 tical experience, of nothing which can regulate it. 
 It is essentially a contemplative, limiting category. 
 Of course we may define perfection, as Spinoza 
 did, in such a way as to make it a synonym for 
 activity and reality, but this is not the sense in 
 which the term is usually used. In that sense it 
 is a constitutive, not a purposive, category. If 
 perfection be defined in relative terms, it becomes 
 identical either with utility or with the idea of a 
 rational social universe which reflection imposes 
 upon practice a priori. Of these two conceptions, 
 a further word. 
 
 That mere utility is not the form of ethical and 
 jural ends has always appeared in view of the 
 fact that the sanctions of utility are conditional 
 and not categorical. That, nevertheless, the 
 goods of the world of practical consistency are, in 
 some sense of the word, at least useful, is clear in 
 the light of the fact that they are always goods 
 for somebody. The weakness of the utilitarian 
 ethic lies not so much in its assertion that practical 
 goods are satisfactions as in its denial that they 
 are anything more than satisfactions. That they 
 are a priori and categorical has always been as- 
 serted in opposition to utilitarianism. Utility 
 made effective in experience by memory and 
 association is undoubtedly a principle of selection
 
 416 PURPOSIVE CONSISTENCY 
 
 and a determinant of action in both pre-reflective 
 and reflective experience. But when we say the 
 capacity for pleasant and unpleasant emotions is 
 the basis of ethical and jural theory, we logically 
 exclude from these disciplines one supremely prac- 
 tical obligation, namely, the obligation to control 
 and train our capacities for pleasant and un- 
 pleasant emotions. That some forms of happi- 
 ness are preferable to others has usually been 
 recognized by hedonistic writers, but their reasons 
 for discriminating among pleasures are often not 
 in the least hedonistic. Some writers resort to an 
 intuitional standard of excellence in pleasures and 
 thus combine intuitionalism and utilitarianism. 
 It amounts to a confession that utility is not the 
 ultimate category of ethics and the sciences con- 
 nected with it. 
 
 We should rather say that the end of reflective 
 practice is the maintenance of reflective practice, 
 the maintenance of the multi-polar self-in-rela- 
 tions-to-other-selves of reflective experience, and 
 this end might be called a rational social universe. 
 Certain ends are set for us by the institutions of 
 society. Certain choices are facilitated by an 
 organized social technique of practical judgment, 
 and it is only when problems arise which do not 
 fall within that technique that the question of 
 the ultimate end of practical consistency becomes 
 pressing. For example, the question, prior to 
 the Civil War, of holding slaves. Such questions
 
 G. A. TAWNEY 417 
 
 naturally become religious in minds which take 
 them seriously. We consider the relations of men 
 to each other in an ideal City whose builder and 
 maker is God, and pattern our attitudes and 
 actions after them. Consider the attitudes of 
 certain members of certain clubs in large cities 
 where artificial standards of club honor are ac- 
 cepted. Those members who reject these stand- 
 ards are looked upon as strangely pious, not to 
 say fanatical, and the idea is probably warranted 
 by the mental attitudes of the men themselves. 
 For they probably appeal to the sanctions of an 
 ideal social order where club honor does not 
 exist. 
 
 We have spoken of three kinds of pure pur- 
 posive consistency, and the remainder of this paper 
 should treat of them. W^e have distinguished 
 two types of each kind and must leave it to our 
 discussions of the nature and types of consistency 
 in another place to justify the distinction. There 
 is beauty, the purposive consistency of objects of 
 presentation which, when defined by conventional 
 models, we may call art and, when not so defined, 
 aesthetic judgment. There is the purposive con- 
 sistency of practical conduct which, when formu- 
 lated by the institutions of society, we may call, 
 for purposes of distinction, economic and, when 
 not so formulated, utilitarian. And there is the 
 purposive consistency of purpose itself which, 
 when organized and retrospective, we may call 
 
 27
 
 418 PURPOSIVE CONSISTENCY 
 
 perfection (using the term in a relative sense) 
 and, when prospective, absolute uniqueness and 
 completeness. 
 
 Beauty is an intrinsic quality of objects and 
 admits of definition as little as the quality redness 
 does. The norms and standards of aesthetic judg- 
 ment are consequently models or examples, not 
 principles or abstract formulations. Conven- 
 tional art criticism follows the models of the 
 masters. Great artists have imitators and be- 
 come the founders of schools. We may analyze 
 the experience of beauty and discover in its ob- 
 jects unity, symmetry, proportion, harmony, the 
 conformity of the object to its type or to its char- 
 acteristic, suggestiveness due to a wealth of 
 associations, utility, analogies between mind and 
 the object, etc., but beauty is more than any or 
 all of these. They may make an object only 
 agreeable, useful, or interesting. Just what the 
 physiological and psychological conditions of the 
 experience may be is a matter still under investi- 
 gation. Economy of the attention, the association 
 of ideas, and the need of normal and healthy 
 exercise for the sense organs, muscles, and motor 
 powers in general are doubtless three principles 
 involved in it. The Kantian conception of a felt 
 purposiveness or harmony between the object and 
 the organization of the self probably contains 
 much of the truth in regard to the matter. In the 
 proper sense of the word beauty does not enter
 
 G. A. TAWNEY 419 
 
 into pre-reflective experience, although in the ex- 
 perience of reflective beings it is always imme- 
 diate. Education, custom, and habit undoubtedly 
 influence it, but it is not a product of these alone. 
 Beauty is categorical. It pleases but this is not 
 the reason why it is beautiful. The beautiful is 
 often useful, but as often useless. It is often the 
 outward expression of an inner spiritual quality, 
 but this is not essential. Historically, the objects 
 and activities which are later to be appreciated 
 aesthetically precede the appreciation itself, and in 
 the earliest art forms the influence of such things 
 as sex, militarism, religion, magic, domestic econ- 
 omy, protection, and tribal custom is evident. The 
 appreciation of nature comes later. 
 
 The field of economics is an enormous one. 
 From one point of view, science, morality, and 
 industrial organization are economic devices of 
 vast moment to reflective experience. They may 
 be regarded as ways of reducing the manifold 
 media of life to homogeneous terms, and the 
 greater the homogeneity of means attained in 
 these various fields, the greater the heterogeneity 
 of ends made possible to practical experience, 
 that is to say, the greater freedom. Certain time- 
 honored conflicts arise from this dual significance 
 of the products of reflective activity. Economic 
 purposiveness involves the idea of progression 
 from stage to stage in the realization of ends while 
 the world of constitutive consistency does not
 
 420 PURPOSIVE CONSISTENCY 
 
 necessarily involve this idea. In evolutionary 
 progressions, from the point of view of science, 
 81^83 = S3 where S represents stage. But from 
 the point of view of practical purposiveness we 
 cannot say this without reducing the progression 
 indicated by the figures 1, 2, and 3 to an illusion. 
 Evolution represents a causal series of stages which 
 from a constitutive point of view are all equivalent 
 and from a purposive point of view all different. 
 Purposive consistency is volitional while con- 
 stitutive consistency is cognitive. We will for- 
 ward but cognize backward. The purposive view 
 of things is based upon and involves the Aristote- 
 lean notion of final causes or sufficient reason, 
 and constitutive causation has sometimes been 
 identified with final causation, to the great con- 
 fusion of both. 
 
 It is sometimes said that causation is a volitional 
 category merely. There are reasons for rejecting 
 this view. (1) Two events related constitutively 
 as cause and effect may or may not have the same 
 purposive significance. The accidental explosion 
 of a shell in the wrong camp illustrates the differ- 
 ence. The term accident gets its meaning largely 
 from this disparity between constitutive and pur- 
 posive consistency, within the same series of 
 events. The shell explodes according to the same 
 constitutive law of causation whether it explodes 
 in the enemy's camp or in the camp which fired 
 it, but it possesses two diametrically opposite pur-
 
 G. A. TAWNEY 421 
 
 posive meanings in the two cases. Its explosion 
 in the camp that fired it was not intended, not pur- 
 posed. The constitutive or scientific view of the 
 explosion is in this case as in all others satisfying, 
 but from the economic point of view it is horribly 
 unsatisfying. (2) Cause and effect can be equated 
 scientifically, but the two stages of a purposive 
 system cannot be equated because they represent 
 different degrees in the realization of a common 
 end. (3) The constitutive relation of causation is 
 one of invariable sequence, while final causation 
 is invariable only within the same system. 
 
 Some one may reply that relations of invariable 
 sequence and equivalence cannot exist except as 
 the terms related belong to a single purposive 
 system, but this is provided for in the various 
 phases of constitutive consistency itself. We have 
 already seen that there are purposive elements in 
 constitutive consistency, and these are not voli- 
 tional elements, so long as they are constitutive. 
 The disparity between the two ways of viewing 
 events arises only when the same event or series 
 of events is conceived as belonging to two differ- 
 ent purposive systems at once. In the above 
 example the explosion is part of a battle and at 
 the same time part of the total system of nature. 
 The purposiveness involved in the constitutive 
 consistency of the explosion with its conditions is 
 the unity of nature as a whole, while the volitional 
 purposiveness of which the explosion of the shell
 
 422 PURPOSIVE CONSISTENCY 
 
 in the camp which fired it is a violation of the unity 
 of the battle. 
 
 In the economic order and organization of ex- 
 perience we may distinguish those cases in which 
 means contribute to the realization of an end 
 which lies outside of them, those which realize an 
 end immanent in the means themselves, and those 
 cases in which the end is reflectively chosen by the 
 means themselves. An illustration of the first is 
 a bridge, a train of cars, or a building. An illus- 
 tration of the second is any organism. An illustra- 
 tion of the third is the family. In the last case 
 the means become their own end. The order 
 and organization of the state are in a way their 
 own end. Self-maintenance is its highest law. 
 And so is it in the case of reflective experience as 
 a whole. The first of these three is the case of 
 organization of the mechanical type. The second 
 brings us face to face with a group of perplexing 
 questions as to the origin of life, its chemical basis, 
 the problem of vitalism and that of neo-vitalism 
 in biology. Is there a purposive life force in addi- 
 tion to the mechanical forces of the physical and 
 chemical elements of the organism, and if so how 
 is it related to the conscious activities which come 
 later in the evolution of sentiency ? How are all 
 related to the reflective type of purpose which we 
 have characterized as its own end. We may dis- 
 tinguish two types of such purposes, the organized 
 and the reorganizing, those purposes of finite indi-
 
 G. A. TAWNEY 423 
 
 viduals whose lives are so interrelated that to- 
 gether they realize a relatively complete experience 
 for each one, and that purpose of reflective expe- 
 rience as a whole which is our highest measure 
 of value, the individuality and uniqueness of the 
 universe.
 
 THE PROBLEM OF METHOD IN MATHE- 
 MATICS AND PHILOSOPHY
 
 THE PROBLEM OF METHOD IN MATH- 
 EMATICS AND PHILOSOPHY 
 
 By Harold Chapman Brown 
 
 1 HE great influence which the conception of a 
 mathematical method exercised upon philosophers 
 in former times, both as to method of procedure 
 and valuation of results, and the very slight regard 
 which is paid to it in our day, sets us the problem 
 of accounting for a remarkable discrepancy in judg- 
 ment. Leibniz,^ in the spirit of the founders of 
 modern philosophy, believed that the sole possibility 
 of ending philosophic controversies was through 
 adopting mathematical method, while Kant,^ even 
 as early as 1764, put forward the notion that mathe- 
 matics and philosophy have nothing in common, 
 neither content nor method, and alleged grounds 
 commonly accepted in our day. 
 
 Pragmatistic discussions are now stirring the 
 depths of philosophic methodology, and mathe- 
 matics is no less perturbed by critically recon- 
 structive researches of logisticians,^ viz., Peano, 
 
 ' Cf . " De Scientia Universali seu Calculo Philosophico," 1684. 
 
 * "Uber die Deutlichkeit der Grundsatze der naturlichen Theologie und 
 Moral." 
 
 * Used as by Couturat, Prin. d. Math., p. vi, but cf. G. Cantor, Gesch. d. 
 Math., Bd. 1, S. 145, where it denotes arithmetical calculus applied to sen- 
 sible things as opposed to pure science of number. 
 
 427
 
 428 MATHEMATICS AND PHILOSOPHY 
 
 Russell, Whitehead, Couturat, and others. Amid 
 the upheaval of both of these sciences we venture 
 to reconsider the question of method, and ask what 
 relation exists between the methods of mathematics 
 and of philosophy, in order to discover whether 
 the founders of modern philosophy were worship- 
 ping false gods, or whether we are neglecting some- 
 thing which might be of the utmost importance to 
 our researches. We may also acquire a certain 
 light from this study on the truth- values that may 
 be justly ascribed to diverse philosophies. 
 
 The task is actually a dual one. In the first 
 place, it is necessary to discover what mathematical 
 method really is, for the vigor and proximity of 
 logistical researches has begotten, in lack of per- 
 spective, a certain confusion in the minds of 
 mathematicians themselves; and when the real 
 import of mathematical method has been grasped, 
 it must be compared with the method of scien- 
 tific philosophy, not only with respect to general 
 character, but also as to perfection of develop- 
 ment. To speak in anticipation, the two regions 
 of investigation, mathematics and philosophy, by 
 no means demand or permit the diversity of method 
 which Kant thought called for, and the clearer 
 development of the mathematical method can be 
 of service in suggesting certain critical approaches 
 to the philosopher. 
 
 It must be remembered that the first outspoken 
 connection of philosophy and mathematical method.
 
 HAROLD CHAPINIAN BROWN 429 
 
 made by Galenus,^ was in connection with logic, 
 so that philosophers who, as their temperaments 
 dictated, have been nauseated or amused by its 
 offspring, the card play of Murner, and the mys- 
 terious figures of Lullus, should not hold these 
 results as evidence of the triviality and futility of 
 our problem. In the seventeenth century, how- 
 ever, when philosophy is characterized by Windel- 
 band^ as a strife of methods, this charge seemed 
 better founded. Descartes believed in mathe- 
 matics as the universal science, and apparently 
 had a pretty correct idea of its significance, but 
 with the Port Royal logic, his conception was 
 simplified to the traditional more geometrico, which 
 is merely an imitation of the form into which 
 Euclid cast geometry ; in this stilted form Spinoza 
 naively accepted it, and in the field of Natural 
 Right it has persisted to Wolff in the eighteenth 
 century.^ If this is mathematical method, as it 
 believes itself to be, we should rejoice that it had 
 sunk into a state of harmless desuetude, so far as 
 philosophy is concerned. 
 
 But it is not so. It was a misunderstood and 
 perverted idea of the whole matter which the 
 followers of Descartes propagated. Mathematics 
 was not yet in a position in which she could under- 
 stand herself, much less be understood by others, 
 and rationalism, quick to grasp a congenial notion, 
 
 • Cf. Prandl. Gesch. d. Log. im Abendl., Bd. 1, S. 562. 
 
 » Huit. of Phil., p. 379. 
 
 » Cf. Windelband, loc. cit., p. 432.
 
 430 MATHEMATICS AND PHILOSOPHY 
 
 seized upon the deductive process and neglected 
 to look deeper. We now have a phrase "hypo- 
 thetico- deductive system" which, when properly 
 understood, puts a new face on the problem and 
 those who have patience to go on to the end will 
 find involved a union of inductive and deductive 
 procedure not widely different from that demanded 
 by science in general. Leaving these things to be 
 proved as we proceed, the first problem is, what is 
 mathematical method ? 
 
 Mathematics is represented in our day by two 
 sorts of workers, the logisticians whose successes 
 are primarily in the morphology of mathematics, 
 a logical problem, and the mathematicians proper 
 whose chief ends are the solution of mathematical 
 problems and discovery in general. But because 
 of the newness of logistical researches, their sig- 
 nificance seems to have been much misunderstood 
 both by their expositors and by their opponents.* 
 For example, Poincare ^ claims that, while errors 
 are lamentable in any scientific work, they are 
 death to the "new method," for the "new method" 
 sets itself up as infallible. Deductive procedure, 
 whether rightly or wrongly, always has a tendency 
 
 ' Cf. "The Discussion between Poincare and Coutnrat," Rev. d. Met. el 
 d. Mor., 1906, also C. Lucas de Peslouan, Rev. d. Phil., April, May, June, 
 1907. 
 
 * Loc. cit.. May, 1906, p. 296.
 
 HAROLD CHAPMAN BROW'N 431 
 
 to claim infallibility, and only the deductive as- 
 pect of logistic has been clearly recognized even 
 by logisticians. This turns out to be a neglect of 
 facts. 
 
 A similar error leads to the reproach that 
 logistic is fruitless in its results, for it hampers 
 rather than aids creative mathematical imagina- 
 tion. This has been denied. Couturat ^ claims 
 that Leibniz discovered infinitesimal calculus only 
 as a sample of his formal logic. But even if it were 
 so, the function of logistic, if hmited to critical 
 reconstruction, would be a highly important one. 
 Even Poincare,^ its opponent, distinguishes two 
 types of mathematical mind, the "intuitional" 
 and the "logical," both of which are equally neces- 
 sary to science,^ although the former are usually the 
 discoverers, and the latter the critical perfectors 
 of the more or less imperfect contributions of the 
 "intuitionahsts." Logistic, then, is not fruitless, 
 unless it be taken as aiming at more than it intends, 
 at more than critical reconstruction. It is the 
 problem of the "logical" type of mind. 
 
 The chief objection, however, from a philo- 
 sophic point of view is that logisticians define the 
 simple by the complex,^ that they neglect the clear 
 and undoubtable for very complex and badly 
 understood notions which they laboriously and 
 
 » Rev. d. Met. et d. Mor., March, 1906, p. 213. 
 
 • La Vol. d. la Sci., chap. 1. 
 ' Loc. cit., p. 15. 
 
 * Cf. Lucas de Peslouan, loc. cit., June, 1907.
 
 432 MATHEMATICS AND PHILOSOPHY 
 
 artificially express in an arbitrary finite number 
 of unwieldy postulates. This charge at first seems 
 to be justified, but it neglects to consider what is 
 the real meaning of simplicity, a very diflScult 
 notion, and when we come to consider it, in con- 
 nection with the logical problem of mathematical 
 morphology, it will appear that the logistician is 
 true to his own purpose and does attain sim- 
 plicity despite his apparent complexity. It also 
 becomes evident that the number of postulates is 
 a matter of little moment, mere fewness being a 
 naive interpretation of simplicity confuted as soon 
 as uttered. Furthermore, this problem of sim- 
 plicity has decided bearing on certain philosophic 
 opinions now under discussion. 
 
 When we ask how mathematics is at present 
 defined by logisticians we are answered by Mr. 
 Russell's enthusiastic statement: "The fact that 
 all mathematics is Symbolic Logic is one of the 
 greatest discoveries of our age," * but as soon as 
 we have begun to beheve this, Couturat, whose 
 work on the principles of mathematics professes 
 to be nothing more than a compte rendu of Mr. 
 Russell's, meets us with the statement "that no 
 one has ever pretended that all mathematics re- 
 duces itself materially to logic, and that there is 
 nothing more in a treatise of mathematics than in 
 a treatise of logic." ^ We are told that mathematics 
 
 ' Prin. of Math., p. v. 
 
 » Rev. d. Met. et d. Mor., March, 1906, p. 214.
 
 HAROLD CHAPMAN BROWN 433 
 
 is guided only by the rules of logic in making its 
 deductions, — as is true of every other science and 
 we are left to make out its differentia for ourselves. 
 
 When we ask, on the other hand, how mathe- 
 matics proceeds, we are answered no less con- 
 tradictorily. Following Dedekind's well-known 
 saying that numbers are *'free creations,"^ we 
 learn that mathematicians arbitrarily formulate 
 hypotheses which serve to create systems and then 
 proceed to discover all that is imphed in them, 
 that their task is the creative development of an 
 ideal world. But over against this we have Poin- 
 care, in the spirit of Kant, insisting that mathe- 
 matical modes of development always depend 
 upon intuitions.^ 
 
 Logisticians might be expected to help us out 
 of the diflSculty, but the discrepancy between 
 Russell and Couturat mentioned above shows 
 that they have not done so. If we ask the reason 
 for this the answer is readily forthcoming. The 
 new logic has had great success in relating differ- 
 ent branches of mathematics; geometry and al- 
 gebra are no more to be thought of as relatively 
 unconnected sciences, even geometry and logic 
 turn out to be most intimate of associates,^ and 
 in the joy of morphological success, the method 
 bearing most closely on it is taken as mathematical 
 
 * Was aind und vxu soUen die Zahlen, S. vii. 
 > Rev. d. Met. ei d. Mar., Jan., 1906, pp. 17-34. 
 
 ' Cf. J. Royce, "The Relations of the Principles of Logic to the Foun- 
 dations of Geometry," Trans, of the Am. Math. Soc., July, 1905. 
 
 28
 
 434 MATHEMATICS AND PHILOSOPHY 
 
 method, par excellence. We cannot, therefore, 
 ask the logisticians themselves to tell us in what 
 mathematical method consists. This does not 
 mean, however, that we should not go to their 
 works to observe what they do and draw our own 
 conclusions from them. 
 
 Pick up a study at random.^ There are others 
 which would do as well. It begins: "The well- 
 known algebra, which forms one of the main 
 branches of elementary mathematics, is a body 
 of propositions expressible in terms of five funda- 
 mental concepts and deducible from a small num- 
 ber of fundamental propositions or hypotheses. 
 
 "The object of the present paper is to analyze 
 these fundamental propositions, as far as may be, 
 into their simplest component statements, and to 
 present a hst which shall not only be free from 
 redundancies, and sufficient to determine algebra 
 uniquely, but shall also bring out clearly the rela- 
 tive importance of the several fundamental concepts 
 in the structure of that algebra.'* 
 
 In the opening hues is the first blow to those 
 who, in the usual fashion, interpret " hypo the ti co- 
 deductive" systems as "free creations." We start 
 with a "well-known algebra," an object presum- 
 ably as definite as that of any science, about which 
 we are to formulate hypotheses. We are told 
 that certain fundamental concepts, met with in 
 
 * "A Set of Postulates for Ordinary Complex Algebra," E. V. Hunting- 
 don. Trans, of the Ana. Math. Soc., Vol. 6, No. 2, April, 1905, pp. 209-224.
 
 HAROLD CHAPMAN BROWN 435 
 
 its analysis, can be subjected to such conditions 
 that the whole algebra can be constructed, or more 
 accurately "reconstructed," from them. This 
 does not look like "free creation." In fact, if we 
 wish to make sure where the "ordinary algebra" 
 came from, we turn to the history of mathematics 
 and find it developed from number problems which 
 in turn arise in close connection with observation 
 of experience. Geometry, especially in Egypt, 
 and in Greece before Euchd, remained crassly 
 empirical and could make hardly any claim at 
 all to the title of "deductive science." 
 
 The logician will reply quite rightly, that it is 
 not the historically empirical origin which is of 
 importance, but that if postulates might have 
 been arbitrarily selected from which mathematics 
 can be developed, the system is logically a free 
 creation; it is not the fact that certain experience 
 suggested mathematics to us that is of consequence, 
 but the question of logical status, and if postu- 
 lates, chosen haphazard, can ever be the basis of 
 a system developed without reference to experience, 
 the claim is made good and we have that anomaly, 
 a purely deductive science. The opposition of 
 rationahsm and empiricism is not here in question, 
 for whether the source of "principles" is the mind 
 or objective facts, they are only manifest when 
 reason is dealing with experience, and therefore 
 the question of origin has no pragmatic bearing 
 on the present problem.
 
 436 MATHEMATICS AND PHILOSOPHY 
 
 Logistic has reduced the facts from which mathe- 
 matics must start to the very primary ones of order, 
 or even of contradictories.^ But the first problem 
 of a tentative system is to establish itself as free 
 from contradiction. Thus the "well-known'* al- 
 gebra can be restated in terms of primarily ordinal 
 concepts, but it is not recognized as mathematics 
 until shown to be self-consistent. From this de- 
 mand arises a check to the supposition that postu- 
 lates might be hit upon, such that a system could 
 be developed from them as a free creation. 
 
 Proved consistency and existence are usually 
 understood as the same thing in mathematics and 
 when one studies the method of proof, the reason 
 is evident. The only known method for proving 
 the consistency of a set of postulates is to exhibit 
 something with reference to which they are all 
 satisfied together. The consistency is thus made 
 contingent upon the consistency of a known exist- 
 ing thing, or it may be, of course, a known set of 
 existing relations as in the case of mathematics. 
 But if this is necessary, how could a "free crea- 
 tion" establish itself as consistent and existent? 
 If an entity is discovered which satisfies it and 
 consistency proved, it might as well, or even better, 
 be looked upon logically as derived from the study 
 of that entity rather than from a chance happen- 
 ing upon provably consistent postulates. If some 
 other way of proving consistency could be discov- 
 
 ' Cf. J. Boyce, loc. cit., supra.
 
 HAROLD CHAPMAN BROWN 437 
 
 ered the case might be altered but, as yet, the only 
 other suggestion is to draw all possible conclusions 
 from the premises and show them by individual 
 comparison to be consistent, and in the case of 
 postulates permitting an infinite number of deduc- 
 tions, such as those of mathematics, this is im- 
 possible. So "free creation" suffers a complete 
 check, and mathematics begins to appear Uke any 
 natural science which formulates hypotheses about 
 entities, and tries to interpret them through con- 
 cepts such that from certain hypotheses concern- 
 ing these concepts all the phenomena intended can 
 be deductively reconstructed. Mathematics has 
 achieved greater success in this than other sciences, 
 because of the comparative simplicity and great 
 prevalence of the facts from which it starts. 
 
 There is, to be sure, one region of mathematical 
 investigation where consistency and existence are 
 unproved, namely, certain theories in relation to 
 the transfinite, but these regions are the home of 
 such staring paradoxes that mathematicians are 
 not to be wondered at for feeling that somehow 
 inconsistencies have crept into their definitions 
 and that perhaps this branch of investigation is 
 wholly illegitimate.^ To show the full conse- 
 quences of this would be an interesting philosophic 
 task, but it concerns us here only to mention the 
 one possible exception to the interpretation of 
 
 * Russell, "On some DiflBculties in Theory of Transfinite Numbers and 
 Order of Types," Proc. Land. Math. Soc., Ser. 2, Vol. 4, pp. 29-53.
 
 438 MATHEMATICS AND PHILOSOPHY 
 
 mathematical method which makes mathematics, 
 like any other science, an hypothesis concerning 
 entities of which we have knowledge of acquaint- 
 ance, and to show that this part of mathematics 
 has only a precarious claim to consideration. 
 
 Having established the consistency through 
 showing the existence of his system, the logis- 
 tician is then led to consider certain traditional 
 requirements of a good definition. In the first 
 place he must show the uniqueness of it,^ i. e., any 
 systems which may be taken as defined by the 
 postulates can be put in one — one correspondence 
 with one another. This is a complex form of the 
 demand for non-ambiguity in the definition of a 
 concept and is the common logical demand in 
 all science. Similarly, the "well-known algebra," 
 taken in the consistency proof, can guarantee that 
 the definition is neither too wide nor too narrow ; the 
 independence proof, that the postulates are every 
 one necessary, is a further demand of elegance which 
 under the name of redundancy is familiar to logi- 
 cians. Mathematicians, then, thus far are merely 
 reinterpreters of their world by defined concepts, 
 much like other scientists. 
 
 A criterion of simplicity, however, appears in a 
 fashion to give us interesting light on the very 
 vague notion which this term usually denotes. 
 Couturat ^ speaks as if it meant mere fewness of 
 
 * Cf. Huntington, loc. cit., supra. 
 
 » Rev. d. Met. et d. Mar., March, 1906, p. 211.
 
 HAROLD CHAPMAN BROWN 439 
 
 postulates. But anyone not sufficiently convinced 
 by his own "natural light" of the futility of this, 
 considering the difficulty of saying when postu- 
 lates are in their simplest form, need only to 
 turn to the literature of the subject to find the 
 greatest variety. To cite a few illustrations from 
 Dr. Huntington : real algebra is defined by sets of 
 from ten to twenty postulates,^ positive numbers 
 by four and by six postulates,^ and the algebra 
 of logic by sets of six, ten, and nine postulates,' 
 of which last it is probable that most logicians 
 would select the set of ten as simplest because it 
 makes use of the subsumptive concept which the 
 others define through equality and addition. It 
 seems indisputable that no rational criterion of 
 simplicity can be based on the number of postu- 
 lates involved. 
 
 A criterion of simplicity which readily suggests 
 itself is harmony with previous knowledge and 
 stock of ideas. If accepted, it leads to the criti- 
 cism of logistic mentioned above; namely, that 
 the clear is derived from the obscure, for clarity 
 and obscurity largely depend upon the stock of 
 notions in the mind to which the new knowledge 
 comes. But such a criterion can never be of value 
 to science because it can never be formulated for a 
 specific instance in such fashion that all men can 
 accept its verdict. The discussion between Cou- 
 
 » Trans. Am. Math. Soc., Vol. 6, No. 1, pp. 17-41. 
 
 » Id., Vol. 3, No. 2, pp. 264-284. 
 
 » Id., Vol. 5, No. 3, pp. 288-309, July, 1904.
 
 440 MATHEMATICS AND PHILOSOPHY 
 
 turat and Poincare, to which reference has been 
 made, is partly instigated by this motive and so 
 far remains fruitless. We need, then, for science, 
 some more objective criterion. 
 
 One which readily suggests itself to mathema- 
 ticians is that of relative freedom from immediate 
 sense data. This criterion is, on the surface, one 
 which leads mathematicians of Peano's type to 
 prefer an entirely new statement of geometry to 
 Euclid's, even if Euclid's were corrected and in 
 proper form. It is in conformity with the familiar 
 principle of thought economy and is certainly one 
 of the factors which may enter into a judgment 
 of simplicity. This is especially true in a science 
 such as geometry or mechanics where sense data 
 play an evident role, thus the claim of Herz over 
 Mach is not that his mechanics is more correct, 
 but that it is more simple. We have not as yet, 
 however, an objectively valid test which can be 
 universally applied, for if we consider such sys- 
 tems as the algebra of logic, mentioned above, or 
 any other of those examples, we are marooned. 
 We must either consider all expositions equally 
 simple, or we must, to logically justify a choice, 
 seek some criterion of simplicity not yet disclosed. 
 
 And there remains a fourth choice which seems 
 to solve the problem more satisfactorily than any 
 of the others. It is natural to call a concept or a 
 thing simple, when it fits easily into its place and 
 no special effort is required to make the use of it
 
 HAROLD CHAPMAN BROWN 441 
 
 which is intended. This is making the concept 
 depend upon "purpose," but it is objective in so 
 far as the purpose can be determined, with re- 
 spect to which a given concept is defined. Apply- 
 ing this to the mathematics of the logisticians the 
 criticisms disappear. The purpose is primarily 
 morphological and therefore a system of mathe- 
 matics is considered to be in its simplest form 
 when expressed in such fashion that its relation 
 to other systems is clear. The aim is "to bring 
 out clearly the relative importance of the several 
 fundamental concepts in the structure of the sys- 
 tem"^ and to make the system easily relatable 
 to others. But also the point of view of the critics 
 of logistic is clear. Most of them, like Poincare, 
 are developers of mathematics, "practical" mathe- 
 maticians they might be called as over against 
 the "contemplative." They want primarily to 
 solve problems of mathematics and, therefore, for 
 them there is no need of beginning geometry ear- 
 lier than with such concepts as Euchd uses. The 
 geometry of Peano is for them as cumbersome as 
 Euclid is to those trying to solve the morphological 
 problem, but to these latter its concepts possess a 
 delightful simphcity. What is to be kept in mind 
 is that both problems, that of the "practical" and 
 that of the "contemplative" mathematicians are 
 legitimate, and while the most comprehensive 
 demand should construct a system satisfactory to 
 
 ' Cf. Huntington, cU., supra.
 
 442 MATHEMATICS AND PHILOSOPHY 
 
 both, subjective feelings of attraction or repulsion 
 should not pervert the sense of their equal right to 
 consideration. 
 
 In brief, then, the method of mathematics, as 
 it is completed by the logisticians, consists in the 
 formulation of a set of hypotheses which are true 
 together of some known entity, and in subjecting 
 these hypotheses to such tests as logicians impose 
 on tentative definitions of concepts; that they are 
 consistent, neither too broad nor too narrow, and 
 simple in a definable sense. The fact which seems 
 to have been neglected by mathematicians is that 
 the proof of consistency, by demanding an exhibi- 
 tion of something already known, puts a check 
 on the "free creation" theory of mathematical 
 systems and places them logically on a level with 
 the concepts of other sciences which all aim at 
 hypothetico- deductive procedure. The chief dif- 
 ference of mathematics seems to be that because 
 of the importance and frequent occurrence of the 
 comparatively simple facts which are suflScient to 
 suggest its concepts, a degree of success has been 
 obtained of which other sciences can as yet only 
 dream. 
 
 It is, therefore, clear why the philosophers of 
 olden time were carried away by the example of 
 mathematics. A science which could do so much 
 for herself must be possessed of a surprising 
 method. And so they undertook to follow in her 
 footsteps, only to meet with failure, but not be-
 
 HAROLD CHAPMAN BROWN 443 
 
 cause of a defect in her method, but because, not 
 yet understanding herself, she could not be under- 
 stood by them, but presented to them an illusory 
 appearance of purely deductive progress with the 
 outward character of which they were impressed, 
 and the real nature of which escaped them. A 
 merely deductive mathematics would be of as 
 httle value as a "freely created" philosophy. The 
 old more geometrico threw away a vital part of 
 the necessary and natural scientific procedure 
 and so it failed of its purpose. When it was dead 
 it was not hard to see why the problem was not 
 again forced upon philosophers; in their own 
 fashion and from their own point of view they 
 have been becoming scientific, and have outgrown 
 the interest by independently adopting the essence 
 of scientific method. In his paper on Avenarius,* 
 Dr. Bush speaks of the demand for the existential 
 predicate as the feature which still serves to dis- 
 tinguish metaphysics from science; but if one 
 pauses to consider the significance of the existen- 
 tial predicate, it seems to be reducible to an 
 hypothesis as to the legitimate extent to which the 
 other hypothesis of metaphysics applies. All 
 science must turn upon some existence, and a 
 science ^ as well as a metaphysics — and there can 
 be such — which turns to a merely imagined world, 
 
 • " Avenarius and the Standpoint of Pure Experience," Arch, of Phil., Psy, 
 and Sci. Meth., No. 2, Nov., 1905, p. 3. 
 
 * Cf. "Whitehead on Mathematical Concepts of the Material World," 
 Phil. Trans, of the Royal See. of Lond., Ser. A., Vol. 205, pp. 465-525.
 
 444 MATHEMATICS AND PHILOSOPHY 
 
 is a dream- play, of value only as play is of value 
 in the training of powers to be turned to more 
 serious tasks. But if there is only a difference in 
 range of applicability of hypotheses to distinguish 
 metaphysics from the sciences, all formal barriers 
 vanish, — an excellent thing if recognized by 
 metaphysicians. 
 
 Though independently discovering the essentials 
 of method, philosophy has still something to gain 
 from the study of mathematical procedure ; for, by 
 virtue of its symbolism, mathematics can express 
 itself with a certain clarity unattainable by other 
 sciences. An attempt at precise imitation of this 
 was one of the stumbling-blocks in Leibniz' path, 
 but an approximation of the form has been used 
 most successfully by Mr. Russell in his critical 
 study of Leibniz. A very fruitful thing should be 
 to point out in a precise fashion the bearing of 
 scientific method on the prevalent faults of philo- 
 sophic systems, and certain possible meanings it 
 has for different systems, for while philosophers 
 are touching upon all these things, they do not 
 seem to have grasped them in their full signifi- 
 cance. A consideration of such points as bear 
 on philosophic criticism follows.
 
 HAROLD CHAPMAN BROWN 445 
 
 n 
 
 A metaphysics constructed on the lines of scien- 
 tific method becomes a new and distinctly differ- 
 ent sort of thing from the metaphysics of former 
 times, as is evinced by the different flavor of the 
 disputes of scientists from those of philosophers, 
 but if scientific method is actually apphcable to 
 philosophy, it should define more systematic 
 analyses and criticisms than have existed hitherto. 
 The nature of philosophic categories is such that 
 the best we can hope for is an approximation, but 
 this is not to be despised in our present state. It is 
 intended here to observe what some of these lines 
 of criticism would be. It is not a question of the 
 first formulation of philosophic data, which must 
 be gotten from the study of experience, but of the 
 critical reconstruction of such data into a system 
 which can fairly be called a philosophy, and which 
 can support a claim to scientific consideration of 
 its pretensions. 
 
 The notion that philosophy is an hypothesis is 
 not a new one, but it is rarely taken in the frank 
 sense that a scientific attitude demands. Ribot 
 says ^ that metaphysics "is an hypothesis built 
 on hypotheses," and continues, "but the hypoth- 
 esis, which in science is always provisional and 
 revocable, is here the supreme reality, the fixed 
 
 * "Essay on the Creative Imagination," p. ioi.
 
 446 MATHEMATICS AND PHILOSOPHY 
 
 position, the inconcussum quid*'! This is, how- 
 ever, just what no philosophic hypothesis can 
 rightly claim to be. Rather, inasmuch as in 
 science, hypotheses are frequently open to labo- 
 ratory tests, while in philosophy they are not, 
 philosophic hypotheses should only timidly claim 
 ephemeral consideration, while those of science 
 which have frequently undergone the tests of ex- 
 perimentation and prediction have something of 
 the inconcussum about them. A somewhat con- 
 fusing circumstance in philosophy, which renders 
 unclear the nature of certain philosophic hypothe- 
 ses, is the curious way which some of them have of 
 voting for themselves to insure their own validity, 
 a trait which is familiar through its exposition in 
 Professor James's "Will to Believe." No other 
 scientific hypotheses have this character. Over 
 against the truth that temperaments mould the 
 philosophy of men, lies the counter truth that a 
 philosophy, which conforms nearly enough to a 
 temperament to be entered upon, has a certain 
 rigidity whereby the temperament is warped to fit 
 the misfit parts of it, as the foot shapes itself some- 
 what under the stiffness of a new shoe, until there 
 is a verification of it which it has itself produced. 
 Were it not so philosophy would be an inefficient 
 factor in life. 
 
 The pragmatists have recognized more clearly 
 than others the hypothetical character of philoso- 
 phy, but the critical tone of their writings shows
 
 HAROLD CHAPjVIAN BR0\\TS[ 447 
 
 that they do not reahze its consequences to com- 
 pared systems. In the first place, it may be im- 
 possible to decide between rival hypotheses which 
 is the truer, and, in fact, it is quite possible that two 
 systems should exist such that no absolute crite- 
 rion of choice is possible. This case has been dis- 
 missed with the statement that two such systems 
 are identical, but this is too simple an answer to 
 the problem. It is possible that persistent and 
 widely divergent "Weltanschauungen" such as 
 "realism" and "ideahsm," "relativism" and "ab- 
 solutism," maintain themselves through the fact 
 that, although distinct hypotheses, each, if prop- 
 erly formulated, is able to deal adequately with 
 the facts of life; it does not follow that by some 
 hocus-pocus they reduce to the same thing. When 
 the criterion of simplicity is interpreted for philos- 
 ophy, it will suggest that the divergence may be 
 due to different purposes from which philosophers 
 set forth, and that the different views may be the 
 legitimate outcome of these. The problem of find- 
 ing an all-comprehending purpose, and its philos- 
 ophy, if possible, remains as yet unsolved. 
 
 Philosophers, for the most part, intend their 
 systems to be self- consistent, although attempts 
 to demonstrate consistency are conspicuous by 
 their absence. Many ^ do not attain it, even such 
 men as Kant, Fichte, Schelling, Leibniz, and many 
 others, and it is not inconsistency in details but 
 
 ' Cf. Mis3 Calkins, "The Persistent Problems of Philosophy," p. 10.
 
 448 MATHEMATICS AND PHILOSOPHY 
 
 in the main principles, the leading ideas of the 
 work, that is here meant. When this charge can 
 be brought against the foundation of a system 
 and not merely against the details of working it 
 out, it is important, because no inconsistent phi- 
 losophy can fulfil its function in a science. 
 
 Since "free philosophic'* notions are not in 
 vogue the philosopher must hmit himself to the 
 well-known world of human experience. Ration- 
 alists, however, are wont to be too enamoured 
 with principles to consider whether the world 
 developed from them is or is not the world of 
 human life, and empiricists too often fail to get 
 philosophy beyond the stage in which it collects 
 and describes facts, or at most the tentatively 
 hypothetical stage of science, and so do not attain 
 the hypothetico- deductive stage which is its final 
 aim. The empiricist, who is at the same time 
 critically reconstructive, or the rationalist, who is 
 interested in empirical applications of his hypothe- 
 ses, is the best type of philosopher, and as long as 
 either is thorough, differences in the practical out- 
 come due to these aspects of their point of view 
 can be reduced to a negligible minimum. 
 
 After the consideration of consistency, the prob- 
 lem for a philosophy is to give an adequate 
 account of facts, but an account which excludes 
 facts the admission of which would not be cor- 
 rect. In both of these respects, adequacy and 
 selectiveness, many philosophers are found want-
 
 HAROLD CHAPMAN BROW^ 449 
 
 fng. Cases of the former defect have often been 
 more or less clearly noticed. For example, when 
 philosophers start from the consideration of a 
 narrow region of fact, such as Kant's right- and 
 left-handed glove, facts of religious life, or of natu- 
 ral science, a system is likely to arise adequate to 
 the region in which it has its origin but inade- 
 quate to other regions to which it must apply to 
 attain philosophic universality. Kant is extremely 
 successful when he is considered merely as an in- 
 terpreter of the problem of space, time, and 
 mathematics, but when it comes to the interpre- 
 tation of moral and aesthetic facts an addition of 
 assumptions is needed which not only refuses to 
 fuse with the natural philosophy but also works 
 it into unclearness and leaves the system as a 
 whole deficient. Similar cases can readily be called 
 to mind where moral life forms the starting point 
 and the philosophy of nature is the sufferer. 
 
 The second of the above mentioned defects, 
 that of setting forth a philosophy admitting more 
 things than is really desired, is less clearly recog- 
 nized but is probably quite as prevalent as the 
 other. Hamlet's remark may now be reversed ; 
 there are more things in some philosophies than 
 are dreamt of in heaven or hell. Perhaps this 
 defect may be traced in the difficulties of Abso- 
 lute Idealism in dealing with the problem of evil, 
 for in the assertion that the absolute becomes 
 more perfect through the evil it transcends, we 
 
 29
 
 450 MATHEMATICS AND PHILOSOPHY 
 
 seem to find implied that it is the function of evil 
 to contribute to the perfection of the absolute, to 
 perfect it as an overcomer, and that therefore evil 
 should be cherished as carefully as good. Look- 
 ing toward the absolute we can say "dark and 
 light are both alike to Thee" and praise those will- 
 ing to be damned for the glory of God. Of course, 
 this is an interpretation which no absolutist would 
 accept, and yet it is hard to show just what limi- 
 tations have been put on the theory to exclude this 
 interpretation. This, then, is one of the cases 
 where the problem of hmiting a system to the facts 
 which it desires to include seem to be pertinent. 
 The insidiousness of this type of error is so much 
 the greater, because of the wide inclusiveness which 
 philosophy, as a scientific hypothesis, must have, 
 and also philosophers can often comparatively 
 easily confine attention to the development they 
 have made explicit, and divert it from what is also 
 implied, but left implicit. 
 
 Let us suppose now that a philosophy has been 
 formulated without any serious technical imper- 
 fections of the types mentioned above. Have we 
 any reason for thinking there can be only one such 
 philosophy, or that if there are several different 
 philosophies, they reduce to an identity ? The 
 name "instrumental theory of knowledge'* sug- 
 gests an analogy ; one can open an oyster with 
 a rolling-pin, although a knife would do much 
 better, and we can spht kindhng with a hatchet
 
 HAROLD CHAPMAN BROWN 451 
 
 or an axe. In general, there are several different 
 sorts of instruments with which any operation 
 can be performed. Identities exist only with 
 respect to purpose, but even if an invariant philo- 
 sophic purpose could be defined, there might be 
 genuinely different instruments for accomplishing 
 this purpose. If the purpose were rigid for all 
 time, it is true those differences would not be 
 worth considering, but when, as is actually the 
 case, the purpose with respect to which the iden- 
 tities are judged is a constantly fluctuating one, 
 and sure to be modified by any marked scientific 
 advance, these differences are of importance, and 
 there appear to be no persistent pragmatic iden- 
 tities. When I purpose merely to start the fire, the 
 hatchet or the axe are identical as wood splitters, 
 but when I add consideration of ease, haste, or 
 of the quality of the wood, the neglected differences 
 assert themselves. Thus of several philosophies, 
 unless they ask meaningless questions, there may 
 be a choice based not on the possibility of one or 
 the other fulfilling the function assigned to it, but 
 in the ease with which it fulfils the function. This 
 is a factor in the decision which leads a man to 
 one or another of the great world views, for no 
 mere sentiment of temperamental "affinity" would 
 keep alive a non-workable philosophy. 
 
 The choice between instruments for a given 
 task is based on convenience, that between cor- 
 rect scientific theories is based on simplicity, which,
 
 452 MATHEMATICS AND PHILOSOPHY 
 
 perhaps, means the same thing. Inasmuch as prag- 
 matism has opened the way for relative truths, 
 systems may be selected for serviceableness with 
 respect to two characteristics of truth, (1) those 
 that contain the least untruth, (2) those the un- 
 truths in which are least involved in the par- 
 ticular application desired. The latter sort are 
 now in question and this is why slight differences 
 of purpose make themselves felt. 
 
 In mathematics it was found that simplicity 
 also related itself to purpose, and that while at- 
 tainment of freedom from sense data was some- 
 times a factor, the more general purpose split itself 
 into a desire to discover morphological phenomena 
 and a desire to discover new theorems and sys- 
 tems, these two points of view being represented 
 by Peano and Poincare respectively. As the for- 
 mer of these attitudes was called "contemplative" 
 and the latter "practical," inasmuch as they asso- 
 ciated themselves with two distinct types of minds, 
 a similar division is to be expected amongst philos- 
 ophers, but, as in the case of mathematics, both 
 types are essential to science, and the problems 
 of neither should be called illegitimate. 
 
 An ideal philosophy, or an ideal science, should 
 satisfy both motives, but as that could not happen 
 without all problems being solved, it is not to be 
 looked for, even if it is to be thought desirable. 
 A philosophy may then, as scientifically correct, 
 be true, and satisfy one of these types of mind
 
 HAROLD CHAPMAN BROWN 453 
 
 more readily than the other, and so be felt as 
 simpler by certain philosophers. It would be 
 unfruitful criticism, however, for its advocates 
 to deny the other type of workers' legitimacy of 
 effort, even if their work inspired in the critics 
 little warmth of interest or sympathy. Of course 
 each type must offer a solution of all philosophic 
 problems, but it is to be expected that each will 
 have a somewhat awkward tool when tested by 
 works other than that for which it was directly 
 intended. 
 
 Let us take, for example, the distinction recently 
 made by Professor James between the tough and 
 the tender minded, a distinction which certainly 
 exists as a factor in the differentiation of individ- 
 ual temperaments, though it is not as satisfactory 
 a differentiator of philosophies as our criterion 
 of simplicity. The Absolute Idealists betw^een 
 whom and Professor James the distinction is made 
 to apply, may often assert with vigor the justi- 
 fication by their philosophy of freedom, moral re- 
 sponsibility, and love of adventure. Whether or 
 not they are conceded to show that their systems 
 actually do justify these things, it remains true 
 that as temperamentalists some, at least, desire 
 them. Let us see how the distinction between the 
 "practical" and the "speculative" enables us to 
 interpret the difference. 
 
 Professor James, like Poincare, is primarily 
 interested in the workings of philosophy in its
 
 454 MATHEMATICS AND PHILOSOPHY 
 
 immediate application to the problems of life, 
 while Professor Royce, as the type of the Abso- 
 lute Idealist, is primarily interested in the con- 
 templation of the world as embodied in philosophy, 
 in the faith that if philosophy is correctly developed 
 the solution of practical problems must follow. 
 Take the result depicted in each solution of the 
 problem of evil. The former sees that from the 
 data at hand in our daily experience no man can 
 speak authoritatively as to the upshot of the 
 world, whether good or evil will finally triumph. 
 Consequently, he declines to consider the problem 
 further and, being healthy minded, assumes the 
 possibility of the victory of the good and, with 
 trust in his fellow-man to vote on the right side, 
 plunges into the fray. The possibility of evil 
 triumphing, while nominally admitted, does not 
 impress one as being actually felt. 
 
 For the absolutist the question takes a different 
 form. We are not now trying to do something 
 with philosophy, but we are contemplating the 
 picture of the world which it presents to us. 
 The whole time span, to use Professor Royce's 
 term, is held before us with all its manifold events 
 in a single instant. Is the picture good or bad.? 
 To a healthy minded man, like Professor Royce, 
 there is no genuine question. To contemplate the 
 picture as evil would be the same as for Pro- 
 fessor James to insist upon failure. The advan- 
 tage here is on the practical philosopher's side.
 
 HAROLD CHAPMAN BROWN 455 
 
 for he can refuse to answer this speculative ques- 
 tion, which demands an answer from the "con- 
 templatist." The answer once placed, it becomes 
 the problem for the philosophy of an absolutist 
 to justify the adventurous and striving character 
 of daily hfe, which he, no less than the "practical" 
 philosopher, feels. The contemplative motive in 
 itself is irreproachable. There is no reason why 
 we should not ask for world view to satisfy con- 
 templation, although the solution of certain prob- 
 lems may then be harder to give than when the 
 question is otherwise put. 
 
 In the above illustration the advantage of sim- 
 phcity seemed to be with the practical motive, 
 but it is not so with all problems nor with all as- 
 pects of the problem of evil, if we admit Professor 
 James's statements as to "moral holiday," in 
 which the absolutist is justified and which he 
 must just take ! With certain other problems 
 this change of advantage may be more striking. 
 This fact should lead to that understanding of 
 different philosophic exigencies and problems 
 which, though not inspiring tolerance for imper- 
 fect or defective solutions of problems, justifies 
 the demand for a solution on the same grounds 
 unless the grounds as well as the solution can 
 be shown defective. Too often we have criticisms 
 of the solution of problems, merely on the ground 
 that they can be solved more easily from some 
 other standpoint, without asking whether an an-
 
 456 MATHEMATICS AND PHILOSOPHY 
 
 swer could rightly be demanded from the same 
 grounds as before; but to continually change 
 from one notion to another, or from one set of 
 fundamental hypotheses to another, is death to 
 progress; a difference in fundamental hypotheses 
 is not necessarily a difference of value^ with re- 
 spect to solutions of philosophic problems. 
 
 As with the two sorts of mathematics, it is the 
 contemplative alone which can present a system 
 in ideal form, but it is the other which can best 
 collect and arrange the materials for the system. 
 There should be, as in history there is, an alter- 
 nation of these two types of philosophy, periods 
 of discovery and partial assimilation of facts, and 
 periods of critical reconstruction in which these 
 facts are weeded out and worked over into good 
 scientific form. The cominiy to light of new facts 
 always disrupts a period of the latter sort and 
 quiescence of discovery, or the arrival at a satura- 
 tion point, always reinstates it again. 
 
 If philosophy is to be taken as a science, the 
 question arises as to its place amongst the other 
 sciences from the point of view of perfection of 
 development. It is quite common to assert that 
 the aim of all science is to be mathematical, and 
 it is consequently implied that mechanics and 
 physics are on this account especially advanced 
 amongst the sciences. This view seems to be a 
 confusion ; to be mathematical in method, and 
 to apply mathematics to problems are two entirely
 
 HAROLD CHAPMxVN BROWN 457 
 
 different things. The former turns out to be a 
 rational aim, but the latter is not so evidently 
 desirable. 
 
 There are, perhaps, three stages of science 
 which are of note, first, the pure empirical, in 
 which the scientist devotes himself to describing 
 and classifying his facts; secondly, the merely 
 hypothetical, in which hypotheses to connect the 
 described facts are proposed, and lastly, the hypo- 
 thetico- deduction, in which the hypotheses have 
 been sufficiently verified so that they may be 
 taken together as premises, and new conclusions 
 deduced which are found to be also verified. 
 Of these stages, the social sciences are for the 
 most part in the first, showing only spurts to the 
 hypothetical; the natural sciences are in the hy- 
 pothetical stage with occasional spurts into the 
 hypothetico-deductive ; but mathematics and phi- 
 losophy, the sciences least dependent upon the 
 details of the concrete facts of experience, alone 
 have attained the third stage in scientific devel- 
 opment, and of these, philosophy only attains it 
 in its critically reconstructive periods. Strangely 
 enough philosophy, which is now striving self- 
 consciously to be scientific, has unconsciously 
 reached a high development of scientific form. 
 The newly conscious impulse is but a redirection 
 of the attention upon one aspect of scientific proc- 
 ess, the inductive, which was left in the background 
 by our immediate predecessors.
 
 458 MATHEMATICS AND PHILOSOPHY 
 
 To sum up the conclusions of this paper in the 
 light of our original problem, the mathematical 
 method, for which the founders of modern phi- 
 losophy yearned, is nothing else than universal 
 scientific method, and the apparent neglect of 
 mathematical method by recent philosophers is to 
 be explained by the fact, that while mathematics 
 has been more or less in the dark as to her own 
 actual procedure, philosophers have been discover- 
 ing the nature of scientific method independently, 
 and have attained considerable proficiency in its 
 use. 
 
 The recognition of this fact serves to throw 
 light on some sources of diflSculty in philosophic 
 systems; errors in systems can be distinguished 
 from differences arising from different points of 
 view, and the criterion of simplicity indicates the 
 possibility of still further differences which can 
 exist in such form that they may never be done 
 away with even if all problems of philosophy are 
 finally resolved. And this last sort of differences, 
 moreover, does not lead to any justifiable preju- 
 dice as to the worth of different philosophic sys- 
 tems, although we may value them differently 
 according to the facility with which they handle 
 those problems by which we are individually most 
 pressed.
 
 PRAGIVIATISM IN iESTHETICS
 
 PRAGMATISM IN .ESTIIETICS 
 
 By Kate Gordon 
 
 1 HE argument of this paper is that aesthetic ex- 
 perience iUustrates and confirms the teachings of 
 pragmatism. It is stated that (1) the work of the 
 artist is to objectify new or striking emotions, 
 that (2) the subject of the a_^sthctic enjoyment 
 accepts these emotions and acts out their meaning, 
 and that (3) the ultimate meaning of beauty is to 
 be found in concrete acts, and the function of art 
 is to produce new experience. 
 
 Pragmatism has been defined as : " The doc- 
 trine that the whole 'meaning' of a conception 
 expresses itself in practical consequences, conse- 
 quences either in the shape of conduct to be rec- 
 ommended, or in that of experiences to be expected, 
 if the conception be true ; which consequences 
 w^ould be different if it were untrue, and must be 
 different from the consequences by which the 
 meaning of other conceptions is in turn expressed. 
 If a second conception should not appear to have 
 other consequences, then it must really be only 
 the first conception under a different name. In 
 methodology it is certain that to trace and com- 
 
 461
 
 462 PRAGMATISM IN ^ESTHETICS 
 
 pare their respective consequences is an admirable 
 way of establishing the differing meanings of dif- 
 ferent conceptions." ^ For pragmatism, as I under- 
 stand it, " significance " is a much more engrossing 
 category than is "existence." The pragmatist 
 looks to the event, the outcome, the result in ex- 
 perience of a conception or of a thing. Dewey ^ 
 says that "things . . . are what they are experi- 
 enced as." Thus, the writing pad is the to-be- 
 written-upon ; a mountain is the looked-up-at, the 
 driven-over, the to- be- tunnelled- through, etc. To 
 put it negatively, that which amounts to nothing 
 for experience is nothing; that which is somehow 
 "there" but never by any chance "here" for any- 
 body is pure fiction. 
 
 Perhaps the difference between pragmatic and 
 other attitudes can be illustrated by the type of 
 reahty and worth which they would assign, let us 
 say, to the character assumed by an actor on the 
 stage. There is a popular opinion that the actor 
 who is playing a part is less himself at that moment 
 than one who assumes nothing, the part is regarded 
 as something foreign, which more or less obscures 
 the real character. The pragmatist would hold 
 that assuming a character is as good as being it if 
 one assumes it thoroughly, and the more parts one 
 undertakes the more is one a personaUty. In "The 
 Tragic Muse" the young actress said to her inter- 
 locutor: "And do you think I've got no char- 
 
 » "Diet, of Phil, and Psy." 
 
 » Journal of PhU. Psy. and Sci. Method, Vol. II. No. 15.
 
 KATE GORDON 463 
 
 acter?" to which he, pragmatically, replied: 
 "Delightful being, you've got a hundred!" 
 
 Significance and meaning are terms which have 
 no place in a purely mechanical conception of the 
 world; in nature one thing does not "mean" an- 
 other; things do not "signify" except in a pur- 
 posive order. All things, according to pragmatism, 
 are either hindrances or furtherances to some pur- 
 pose. (It should not be necessary to add that in 
 making all things relative to purpose one is not re- 
 ducing everything to psychology. Certainly there 
 are purposes in ethics, in logic, in aesthetics, in 
 sociology, and in what not ?) Given a purpose 
 or an activity, it is possible to analyze in it certain 
 termini, an end towards which, and one from 
 which, the process moves, but it would be quite 
 perverse to say that these points "determine" the 
 process in the sense of being independent objects 
 which exert compulsion upon it. Rather is it true 
 that the process is the ground or determining 
 source of the termini. Instead of two points 
 determining a line it is the line which determines 
 the points. This is in harmony with the assertion 
 that objects are constituted by purposes. 
 
 This brief statement about pragmatism is not 
 intended for an argument, for I do not understand 
 that an ultimate philosophical attitude can be 
 argued. Pragmatism is the disposition to look for 
 final explanations in terms of purpose, and for 
 reality in experienced satisfactions. With this dis-
 
 464 PRAGMATISM IN ESTHETICS 
 
 position I should like to approach the field of 
 aesthetics. ^Esthetic discussion may be classified 
 for this purpose under three general heads : (1) the 
 artist's standpoint; what are the motives to art 
 production? what is meant by "self-expression," 
 and by " objectification of emotion" ? in what way 
 does art "relieve" emotion? (2) the standpoint of 
 the appreciator or admirer of art; what is the 
 nature of aesthetic enjoyment? what is the mean- 
 ing of "internal imitation" and the motor ele- 
 ments in aesthetic consciousness ? the significance 
 of "disinterestedness," "objectivity," "immedi- 
 acy," "absorption of subject in object"? (3) the 
 origins and functions of art. These questions can 
 here be touched of course only in the most summary 
 way. 
 
 The term "artist" should not be limited, in 
 aesthetic discussion, to mean merely the acknowl- 
 edged masters or even the whole professional class, 
 but should include everybody who has seriously 
 tried to express his emotion through one of the 
 recognized media of artistic production. Hirn ^ 
 says : " If the notion of art is conceived in its most 
 general sense, every normal man, at some time of 
 his fife at least, is an artist — in aspiration, if not 
 in capacity." The standpoint of the aspirant must 
 
 » " The Origins of Art," Chap. II.
 
 KATE GORDON 465 
 
 indeed have something in common with that of 
 the successful master, for the latter is considered 
 to have expressed not only his own feehng but also 
 that of others. 
 
 The motives to art production may be extremely 
 varied, the artist may work for money, for love, 
 out of emulation, or fear, etc. (just as among primi- 
 tive people arts were practised for the sake of con- 
 veying information, of stimulating fighting and 
 working power, of exercising magic influence, etc.), 
 without having the product necessarily vitiated as 
 a work of art. Yet the genuine art motive, that 
 which is there apart from any specific external 
 pressure, is somewhat different from any of the 
 motives mentioned. The art-impulse has been 
 derived, according to different authorities, from 
 the tendency to imitate, the tendency to attract by 
 pleasing, to employ surplus energy ; from the 
 desire for self-exhibition, for self-expression to re- 
 lieve emotion, and to objectify feeling. It is allied 
 to the instincts of play and of sociability. These 
 tendencies overlap each other and probably all 
 are operative in artistic activity, but the categories 
 of self-expression and objectification of emotion 
 give perhaps the most comprehensive and just 
 characterization of the meaning of the art-im})ulse. 
 When one experiences great j)leasure or joy, the 
 first wish is to keep it up just as it is, but that failing 
 one is impelled to express the experience by por- 
 trayal, to seek an image which will revive the feel- 
 so
 
 466 PRAGMATISM IN ESTHETICS 
 
 ing. Not only, however, is this true of joy; for 
 when an uncommon terror, or a peculiar grief, has 
 been endured there is a wish not to let the memory 
 of it wholly die, we want to record the fact in order 
 sometime to find the interpretation of it. We may 
 say in general that whenever there is a striking 
 emotional experience, or a feeling not fully grasped, 
 there is a desire to express, fix, and objectify that 
 feeling, to put it into permanent and appeahng 
 form. 
 
 There is always a social reference in this desire 
 for expression. Often this reference is patent, so 
 much so that one writer makes the desire "to at- 
 tract by pleasing" the basis of art. The desire for 
 permanence and objectivity is, however, itself 
 ultimately social; for only that which makes an 
 impression on the social order is truly rendered 
 objective or permanent, only that which appeals 
 deeply to people is the monument more lasting 
 than bronze. The artist in working for others 
 need not mean by society any definite hving per- 
 son or group of persons, he may figure it as pos- 
 terity, an ideal group or an ideal person, or even 
 himself in the character of critic, but the reference 
 is there nevertheless and remains social in its es- 
 sence. With a sincere artist this wish to impose 
 his experience on others is not an undue exaltation 
 of himself but is the legitimate and normal desire 
 to establish and preserve whatever novel emotions 
 or supreme moments his experience may have held.
 
 KATE GORDON 467 
 
 When these moments are once translated into a 
 medium which will, as it were, be responsible for 
 them then an important part of the artist's desire 
 is accomplished. He may rest relieved by his 
 work of art. The art-impulse is imitative in the 
 sense that it tends to reproduce or iterate an ex- 
 perience which the artist has had ; it is self-expres- 
 sive and self-exhibitive in that the artist stamps 
 his idea upon society ; it works off surplus energy 
 in the sense of relieving emotional pressure. Its 
 spontaneity together with its constructive and its 
 imitative elements suggest the play-instinct, while 
 the instinct of sociability is at the bottom of the 
 social reference mentioned. The complete objec- 
 tification of emotion is an end and a satisfaction 
 of the art-impulse, but, as we have seen, this very 
 end implies that the emotion felt by the artist is to 
 be taken up into the social process and lived out. 
 
 II 
 
 The second group of questions involves a dis- 
 cussion of the standpoint of the observer, or better, 
 the admirer of art. The generally current descrip- 
 tions of his state of mind say that his pleasure is 
 disinterested, objective, and universal, that aesthetic 
 value is immediate rather than discursive or "con- 
 secutive," that art widens the sympathies, that it 
 has the form of purposiveness but represents no
 
 468 PRAGMATISM IN .ESTHETICS 
 
 purpose. Some writers add that an element of 
 pain or melancholy is aroused by beauty. 
 
 The disinterestedness of aesthetic enjoyment is 
 expressed also as a detachment from desire, as a 
 stilling of the will, impersonal contemplation. 
 The immediacy of aesthetic value is supposed to 
 distinguish it from ethical or logical or economic 
 values; for these latter may be means to an end, 
 they may be valid because they contribute to some 
 other thing than themselves, whereas in beauty 
 there is no ulterior ground, no reference which 
 accounts for the value. Further, the admirer of 
 beauty feels the value to be objective and uni- 
 versal, that is, he feels his pleasure to be "the qual- 
 ity of an object." Beauty he holds to be sharable, 
 and to be addressed normally to a group rather 
 than to an individual. The sensuous element in 
 beauty is also some guarantee of its objectivity; 
 the beautiful is always something which we may 
 see or hear or touch, which gives resistance and 
 stimulation to the senses. The fact that art widens 
 the sympathies follows from its universal character. 
 
 It is not, I think, sufficiently dwelt upon in 
 aesthetics that every moment of aesthetic suscepti- 
 bility is to some extent a risk and an adventure. 
 The absorption of the subject in the beautiful 
 object is a subjection of mind analogous to a mild 
 hypnosis. Our motor responses and "internal 
 imitations" are often, possibly always, the basis of 
 our interest, the means to our emotional appre-
 
 KATE GORDON 469 
 
 elation, and by these we accept and realize the 
 suggested feehngs. UnUke a logical, an ethical, or 
 an economic absorption in which propositions and 
 plans of action are considered, and a judicial atti- 
 tude preserved, aesthetic absorption is in a thingy 
 an object whose dynamic possibihties are not 
 clearly known, it is more of an unconditional sur- 
 render, and more like encountering a person than 
 a principle. The work of art may stimulate inter- 
 ests and reactions which are most unlooked for. 
 That is where the adventure comes in. 
 
 The characteristics of the aesthetic conscious- 
 ness, then, are a remoteness from immediate 
 self interests, a suggestible and imitative attitude 
 towards the object, and an allegiance to a reality 
 felt to be independent of oneself. But back 
 of the producer's desire to objectify emotion and 
 back of the admirer's acceptance of it after it is 
 objectified is the desire of both for the emotion 
 itself. In every normal person there is an instinct 
 for excitement, a curiosity about the untried and a 
 liking for whatever is novel and stirring. It is 
 this which sets the artist hunting for new emotions 
 to objectify, and this which first draws the observer 
 into the neighborhood of the work of art.
 
 470 PRAGMATISM IN AESTHETICS 
 
 III 
 
 Mediating between the producer and the ad- 
 mirer stands the work of art itself. It is the end 
 term of two processes, being the goal or ending 
 point of the artist's endeavor, but the starting 
 point or at least the point of redirection for the 
 activity of the admirer. An inquiry concerning 
 origins and functions of art is an inquiry for the 
 other two termini of the art process — the begin- 
 ning of the art- producing and the end of the art- 
 enjoying emotion. If art production is based on 
 emotion we have first to ask where the emotion 
 comes from. We may distinguish a psychological 
 and a social origin for it, though we recognize that 
 for primitive mind the individual and social inter- 
 ests were not clearly differentiated. 
 
 The theory of emotion ^ which regards it as a 
 phenomenon of interrupted habit, states that emo- 
 tion is the consciousness of conflicting impulses. 
 Impulses which meet with no resistance get carried 
 smoothly into action, and the rule is that their 
 owner knows and feels very little about them ; but 
 let an impulse be checked, or rather — since only 
 an impulse can check an impulse — let there be a 
 conflict between impulses and the affair appears 
 in consciousness and appears an emotion. In 
 feeling, at least, the theory would say that strife is 
 
 ' Dewey, PhU. Rev., Vols. I. and III. Cf. also AngeU. P»y., Chap. XIX.
 
 KATE GORDON 471 
 
 the father of things. Imagine a primitive man 
 approached by an enemy ; his fighting instinct is 
 aroused and he starts forward to make an attack. 
 If resistance is feeble the act of destruction is 
 shortly completed and does not rise far into the 
 emotional or ideational level. But if the enemy 
 assumes a terrible and threatening air the act of 
 destroying him is at least postponed a little. The 
 instinct of fear is touched in the aggressor and the 
 impulse to cower and run tends to check his attack. 
 At once there is emotional stir, the fighting im- 
 pulse reined-in becomes conscious anger, the overt 
 act thus blocked remains a mere attitude, and the 
 result is an angry man in a fighting posture. The 
 most desirable thing at that moment in the world 
 would be some means of fixing his resolution and 
 augmenting his strength. Now the primitive per- 
 son who wants to do something but dares not, 
 finds a satisfaction in going repeatedly as far as he 
 does dare. Repeated threats and feints and pos- 
 turings thus take the place of a real fight. I believe 
 that such a situation would account psychologic- 
 ally for the origin of that fundamental form of 
 art — the dance. When an act has been inter- 
 cepted the actor records that moment, and in a 
 sense objectifies his emotion, by the repetition of 
 that part of the act which he is able to perform, 
 namely the attitude. If the posture were repeated 
 often enough to fall into a rhythm it would then 
 constitute a dance — a work of art. According to
 
 472 PRAGMATISM IN ESTHETICS 
 
 this account, the objectification of emotion is an 
 objectification of conflict, and whoever preserves 
 an emotion preserves an ungratified impulse, a 
 problem unsolved or a purpose unfulfilled. The 
 performance of mimetic dances after a deed is com- 
 plete, a victory won, we may, it is true, ascribe to 
 the desire to revive and prolong the joy of success, 
 but this type of commemoration also has a refer- 
 ence to the future. The memory of one feat is 
 kept as a stimulus to the next, and also as a means 
 of attaining social consequence. 
 
 As to the social origins of art, we are told that 
 the different forms of art were evolved as useful 
 accessories to certain definite ends, that the func- 
 tion of the artist was to direct and incite the efforts 
 of a social group. The praesul or group leader in 
 beating out the rhythm for concerted action, and in 
 performing a pantomime of the movements to be 
 made, furnished concrete imagery for his group — 
 the stimulus of a literal example. In their historical 
 beginnings the arts were useful devices for attaining 
 success in specific types of activity. In the interests 
 of the fight and the hunt, of love and religion, of 
 magic and work, wherever, in a word, primitive man 
 wanted to exert his power the arts came in to stim- 
 ulate and enhance it. The status of art seems to 
 have been purely instrumental. Biicher ^ says that 
 if one asks a Bulgarian laborer to sing a harvest- 
 song in winter time the answer is sure to be: 
 
 * "Arbeit u. Rhythmus."
 
 KATE GORDON 473 
 
 "Es sei eine Schande, ein solches Lied zu singen, 
 wenn nicht die Zeit dafiir sei." The function of 
 art, then, was not at first so much a stilling as it 
 was a prodding of the will. 
 
 The function of modern art is of course a 
 separate question. With the big changes that have 
 come in our social economy, one would not expect 
 to find so important a function wholly unchanged. 
 In the modern social order occupations and ideas 
 are much more numerous in kind. With the 
 division of labor has come the multiplication 
 of types, and the more democratic ideal. Our 
 ideal community is not one in which every man is 
 a hunter or a warrior with the biggest one as leader, 
 but rather a community in which every person is 
 doing something a little different from every 
 other, one in which each member holds a position 
 and performs a service which is unique, and 
 therefore one in which every one leads in some- 
 thing. Now in such a society of individuals what 
 place would there be for an artist of the primitive 
 sort ? \\ ith everybody wanting to do a different 
 thing it would be impossible to be a praesul and 
 to give to each a literal example of what he was 
 to do. As a matter of fact the modern artist works 
 as a rule for a pubUc not present to him in the 
 flesh, and often for persons whom he will never 
 see. This, added to the fact that his public repre- 
 sents widely divergent interests makes the notion 
 of personal example quite remote. And yet I
 
 474 PRAGMATISM IN .ESTHETICS 
 
 believe that with one very important difference 
 the function of modern art is essentially the same 
 with that of primitive art. The difference is that 
 modern art instead of giving a stimulus to a 
 specific act gives a stimulus of a much more gen- 
 eral kind, and leaves each individual to hve out for 
 himself the meaning and the end of it. 
 
 To assert that the function of art is to stimulate 
 to ends, of whatever sort, is, on the surface anyway, 
 a direct contradiction of the idea that art quiets 
 the will and absolves from desire. Now the terms 
 "disinterestedness" and "freedom from desire," 
 and the notion that certain values are immediate 
 and not grounded on absent things do stand 
 unquestionably for a certain truth ; but, if I under- 
 stand what that truth is, they express it badly. Lit- 
 eral disinterestedness is an artifact. What the term 
 is used to signify is that some interests (not all) are 
 in abeyance. The whole point for aesthetics is to 
 distinguish which interests are ignored and which 
 are thereby fostered when one contemplates beauty. 
 The difference seems to be one of small present 
 interests as against larger and more remote ones. 
 Art, though it no longer sets one on to instant 
 deeds, has yet a far-reaching influence upon 
 action. Thus there is no one particular act which 
 a plaintive melody could be relied upon to stimu- 
 late, but it might very well induce a mood of ten- 
 derness or pity, the results of which, though not 
 known, we must not suppose lost. A beautiful
 
 KATE GORDON 475 
 
 object, even a familiar one, has something in it 
 always novel and re-creative, and in this sense 
 represents a change from preceding experience 
 and interests, so that the beauty seems not to de- 
 pend upon the preceding interest for its value. It 
 is not apparently mediated or arrived at but given, 
 is not like an "answer" in arithmetic which, in- 
 significant by itself, needs the preceding problem 
 which it answers to give it a meaning. To say, 
 however, that beauty is really an "immediate 
 value," or that its meaning is completely ex- 
 pressed in its form is a contradiction in terms, and 
 a denial, it seems to me, of the most vital element 
 in all aesthetic moments. Value, meaning, signifi- 
 cance, these must always by definition imply a 
 standard or involve a reference. The pragmatic 
 attitude on the subject would be that the meaning 
 of a beautiful object is to be sought not in itself 
 but in its final reference to concrete acts ; that the 
 aesthetic moment, fike any other, must be placed 
 in a purposive order, that there is no such thing as 
 a completely given value. 
 
 Evidence is not wanting that the person going 
 through the aesthetic experience demands a refer- 
 ence to some purpose. Recent theories regard 
 aesthetic consciousness as a consequent rather than 
 a cause of art production; they say that aesthetic 
 appreciation of natural beauty is developed by 
 first appreciating art. The aesthetic consciousness 
 would thus be a moment not given by nature but
 
 476 PRAGMATISM IN .ESTHETICS 
 
 determined by art, that is, developed within a 
 human process. Again, in modern theory, the 
 conception of the characteristic or the significant 
 is given chief place in the definition of beauty, and 
 the categories of congruity and fitness are also 
 considered relevant. Now nothing is merely char- 
 acteristic, etc., it is characteristic or significant o/, 
 congruous with, fit for. All those notions involve 
 a reference. Finally, it comes out in experimental 
 tests on aesthetic problems that the isolation of 
 the aesthetic object is a source of disturbance to 
 the subject. Persons asked to choose the more 
 beautiful of two colors, the more pleasing of two 
 circles of different size, and the better of rectangles 
 of different proportions often find it unnatural and 
 difficult to make a choice irrespective of some use 
 to be made of the color or the form. Some say that 
 they have no "favorite" color in the abstract, but 
 have different favorites for different purposes. One 
 person among my subjects who had been trying to 
 choose among rectangles (including the golden sec- 
 tion) at last exclaimed: "Heaven knows I would 
 be glad to yearn for one of those things to please 
 you," but declared it impossible to like them apart 
 from some imagined purpose {i. e., as used for a 
 picture-frame, a book-cover, etc.). My experience 
 has been that questions like " Which is longer, or 
 darker, or bluer," etc., are accepted and answered 
 as a matter of course, but that the questions " Which 
 is better or more beautiful, which do you prefer,"
 
 KATE GORDON 477 
 
 are troublesome and often call out the demand 
 for further explanation. Another fact which sug- 
 gests the dependent nature of beauty is the 
 part sometimes played by the object's position 
 in a series of objects. Martin ^ found that chang- 
 ing the relative position of simple curves could 
 change their relative aesthetic value. In unpub- 
 lished tests of my own on circles of different sizes 
 and rectangles of different proportions the same 
 point came out, the choice seemed to be affected 
 by the position which the figure held in the series 
 presented. For example, in a graduated series let- 
 tered a, b, c, d, etc., figures a, b, and c were 
 shown together and the subject chose b as most 
 pleasing; then b, c, and d were presented and 
 the subject chose c. Now since b and c were 
 together for comparison both times it would seem 
 that it was not the figure itself but its position 
 which determined the preference. In this exam- 
 ple the middle figure was chosen both times. ^ 
 These facts point to the conclusion that aesthetic 
 experience is less able to stand by itself than has 
 been supposed. 
 
 If it were granted, however, that the aesthetic 
 moment did derive its value from a purpose and 
 was not in any literal way free from desire, there 
 would still remain to be explained that feeling of 
 freedom which is so often observed as accom- 
 
 > Psy. Rev., Vol. XIII, No. 3. 
 
 * Cf. also Witmer, Phil. Stud., IX, p. 128, for a like result
 
 478 PRAGMATISM IN ESTHETICS 
 
 panying the appreciation of beauty. Freedom, 
 as any one would agree, rests upon the power of 
 choice, hence there is no freedom unless there are 
 at least two things to choose from. And, con- 
 versely, the person who has possible alternatives 
 is a free agent, and the broader the field of his 
 possibihties the greater his sense of freedom. Ac- 
 cording to the theory of emotion cited above 
 every emotion represents more than one possible 
 action — is in fact the consciousness of conflicting 
 impulses. The very presence of emotion is there- 
 fore an appropriate situation for the sense of free- 
 dom, being a moment of suspended choice, or 
 balance of alternatives. 
 
 If art is stimulative is it possible to name some 
 of the concrete acts which it instigates ? If it has 
 meaning, exactly what does it mean to have us do ? 
 It is not, I think, possible always, or even often, to 
 name the precise outcome in action of a work of 
 art. It has already been said above that the stim- 
 ulus of art is generic rather than specific, and I 
 should like to dwell a little at this point on that 
 distinction. The works of Millet and Breton must 
 certainly modify the attitude of many people to- 
 wards the laborer of the field, yet it is impossible 
 to say exactly what acts those pictures inspire; 
 acts of charity perhaps, but they certainly do not 
 sohcit gross and obvious charities, nor would these 
 express the intention of the pictures. The picture 
 of the Man with the Hoe inspired Markham's
 
 KATE GORDON 479 
 
 poem, and picture and poem inspire their public 
 with a sense of social responsibihty and a feehng 
 of a^vful compassion. The result of this should 
 be some bettering of social conditions, that is, 
 better social conditions would express the ulti- 
 mate intention of such works of art (whether that 
 were consciously intended by the artist or not), 
 but just how to get better conditions, exactly 
 what to do we must find out not from the work 
 of art but rather from social science. Art inspires 
 merely the emotional stage of the reform. To 
 take another illustration, martial music is be- 
 lieved to have an effect upon the action of soldiers, 
 but while it may inspire courage it takes the in- 
 telligence of military science to narrow the emo- 
 tion into the effective and desired concrete act. 
 Here, too, art carries the actor only as far as the 
 emotional stage of action. He feels urgently that 
 he must do something, but art furnishes only in a 
 general way the notion of what he shall perform. 
 The meaning of art is thus a felt meaning not 
 a definitely known one. This is the striking dif- 
 ference between aesthetic appreciation and logical 
 judgment. Every judgment is something of an 
 equation, a balancing process in which a certain 
 equivalence is predicated. One thing is said to be 
 another, that is, every subject about which any- 
 thing is judged is in a manner balanced by its 
 predicates. Now with aesthetic appreciation there 
 is not just that kind of balance present; the
 
 480 PRAGMATISM IN AESTHETICS 
 
 beautiful object is there as the subject about 
 which one's feehng hangs, but its precise valua- 
 tion in the way of definite predicates is wanting. 
 It deserves predicates but they are at the moment 
 unknown quantities. The work of art has a weight 
 and a meaning, but at the moment of felt effect it 
 has not yet been fully translated into that mean- 
 ing. It is this felt but undefined significance which 
 makes the mystery of great art — the face of Mona 
 Lisa so full of significance, is equally full of mys- 
 tery and of things unknown; one is not sure even 
 whether her smile is sinister or benign — if in- 
 deed it is a smile. 
 
 The function of art, then, is to preserve and 
 present meanings at their emotional stage, before 
 they have become explicit, definite, or solved. 
 Since every emotion is an unsolved problem or a 
 conflict, the artist is he who discovers and founds 
 problems, and his business is to put them into 
 persistent form. The artist part of each of us is 
 the part which leads us into emotional complex- 
 ities and hazards, and this impulse is satisfied 
 only when we are involved in an objective situa- 
 tion. This impulse is at bottom very much the 
 same as that which leads one in any sport to wish 
 for a hard game. It is the experimental or ad- 
 venturous side of our nature, and the satisfaction 
 of the impulse is reached when one is confronted 
 by a stiff opposition. As some one has said, "On 
 ne reste que sur ce qui resiste." On the intellect-
 
 KATE GORDON 481 
 
 ual level this desire seems to me no other than the 
 desire for an objectively real world in which to 
 think and feel and act. Every one can at times 
 sympathize with Rasselas in his wish to escape 
 from the Happy Valley. 
 
 Much of the criticism of pragmatism rests upon 
 the feeling that pragmatism does not do justice to 
 the difficulties of the human situation, does not 
 recognize the stubborn character of objects and 
 oppositions. We may answer this (aside from 
 the answer that nowhere is opposition more 
 difficult or real than between different purposes) 
 by saying that one may recognize opposition itself 
 as part of a purpose and as satisfaction of an 
 impulse. 
 
 Finally, the pragmatic view of aesthetics recog- 
 nizes the aesthetic moment as a problem, not as a 
 solution, a beginning rather than an end. The 
 pragmatic view of art, I should say, is this, that 
 art is not essentially an imitation of life — a copy 
 of something done and finished before art took it 
 up, but that life is a copy and imitation of art. If 
 art is the "image of life" it is more a prophetic 
 than an historic image. Thus, Henry James has 
 created for us many situations, put things in our 
 lives that were not there before; and Meredith 
 has made persons. After seeing a Turner one 
 sees more form and color in a sky. We see beauty 
 in nature because we see it as a picture. The genre 
 in art has given us an interest in common things, 
 
 SI
 
 482 PRAGMATISM IN J^STHETICS 
 
 we can see them at last because we see that they 
 are a pageant. In other words, art if it is stimu- 
 lative and instrumental must be prior to that which 
 it effects. Life and nature are in a vital sense ex- 
 perienced as products of art.
 
 THE CONSCIOUSNESS OF RELATION
 
 THE CONSCIOUSNESS OF RELATION 
 
 By R. S. Woodworth 
 
 1 WO points of method long since impressed me 
 in the psychology of Professor James : on the 
 one hand his recognition of the great variety of 
 experience and consequent distrust of easy sim- 
 plifications and unifications — a lack of undue 
 veneration for the law of parsimony — and on the 
 other hand his whole-hearted acceptance of the 
 physiological point of view. It is then quite in 
 the spirit of a pupil that I have urged the need of 
 giving up a purely sensationalistic psychology, as 
 neither adequate to the variety of mental facts, nor 
 consonant with the probable functions of the brain. 
 There are facts of consciousness which do not 
 readily fit into a sensationalistic classification. 
 They are not sensations as we ordinarily use the 
 term, and they are not images if images are de- 
 scribed in terms of sensation. 
 
 Some persons, though not all, are able to de- 
 tect, in their thinking, moments bare of recogniz- 
 able imagery, containing no sensations of interest 
 — moments, nevertheless, of mental alertness and 
 of keen consciousness. In answering Galton's 
 
 485
 
 486 CONSCIOUSNESS OF RELATIONS 
 
 questions regarding the breakfast- table, they af- 
 firm that they think of the various items without 
 anything like a sensible picture of them. In vol- 
 untary action, they say that, though they know 
 perfectly well what act they are about to perform, 
 they do not represent it in visual, kinesthetic, 
 verbal, or other sensory terms. In solving prob- 
 lems, they declare that the solution first appears 
 in a non- sensory form, which, however, is clearly 
 conscious. Even in sense perception, many per- 
 sons find that the thing as it is momentarily sensed 
 is but the sign of the thing as it is thought of, while 
 nevertheless the thing as thought of does not appear 
 in consciousness with any sensory qualities but 
 those which are presented at the moment. As all 
 students of imagery from Galton down have found, 
 the persons who make these statements are often 
 men of high intelligence and scientific training, 
 sometimes they are psychologists with special 
 training in self-observation. Their observations 
 cannot be swept aside as untrustworthy. 
 
 It is ultra-parsimonious for the psychologist to 
 try to keep house without these facts. They 
 should be admitted in a generous spirit and al- 
 lowed the independent standing in our classifica- 
 tion which they seem to demand. There is no 
 demand, emanating from the facts themselves, 
 that they be classed as sensations; they are not 
 observed as sensory complexes. It is only be- 
 cause our scheme of classification is not generous
 
 R. S. WOODWORTH 487 
 
 enough, because our zeal for parsimony is exces- 
 sive, that we insist they must be sensations or 
 sensory images in disguise. 
 
 Physiologically, the argument is as follows: we 
 cannot pretend that all the functions of the brain 
 are sensory, concerned exclusively with the recep- 
 tion of stimuli or with the reproduction of activi- 
 ties appropriate to the reception of stimuli. If you 
 pass in review the functions that are evidenced by 
 our thought and behavior, you cannot reduce them 
 all to sensation. If you consider the known locali- 
 zation of functions, you find only a small part of 
 the brain devoted to the senses. If you consider 
 the findings of brain pathology, you conclude that 
 not all loss of function is describable as loss of sen- 
 sation. Now, though it would be bad logic to infer 
 consciousness from brain function, the physiolog- 
 ical evidence of non-sensory functions gives addi- 
 tional weight and significance to the introspective 
 evidence of non-sensory consciousness. 
 
 Among the functions which appear in human 
 thought and behavior, though not as yet revealed 
 by brain physiology, is that of reaction to the rela- 
 tions of things. I leave aside for the moment the 
 question of whether there is any special conscious- 
 ness of relation, and ask only whether we become 
 adjusted to relations, and whether this sort of ad- 
 justment is anything different from adjustment to 
 sense stimuli. The question admits of but one an- 
 swer. Certainly we react to relations of size and
 
 488 CONSCIOUSNESS OF RELATIONS 
 
 shape, of distance and direction, of before and 
 after in time, of likeness and difference, and 
 many others. Let two objects be before our eyes : 
 without any change in our sensation of them, we 
 react now to one relation, now to another, of the 
 many which hold between them. The adjust- 
 ment to any particular relation is something addi- 
 tional to the perception of the objects. The failure 
 to become adjusted to any one of them is not a de- 
 fect in the reception of the stimulus. The change 
 in adjustment from one relation to another is not a 
 change in the mode of receiving the stimulus. 
 
 Dropping now into terminology that impHes 
 consciousness, I say that given the same sense- 
 presentation, we may successively observe numer- 
 ous relations within it. Looking at the pictures on 
 the wall, we notice, first, that one is larger than an- 
 other, then that it is more nearly square, that it is 
 farther to the right, nearer, done in brighter colors, 
 more pleasing. We pass from one of these relations 
 to another, losing consciousness of one as we gain 
 consciousness of another. All the while the sense 
 presentation remains constant, nor are we con- 
 scious, usually, of additions and subtractions of 
 imagery. What, then, is the change in conscious- 
 ness which occurs when a relation appears or dis- 
 appears.? Words may appear and disappear, 
 different movements may be made; but these 
 reactions seem often to follow the first perception 
 of the relation. The most straightforward de-
 
 R. S. WOODWORTH 489 
 
 scription of the changes in consciousness is that a 
 feeling of relation comes and goes. If there be such 
 a thing as a feeling of relation corresponding to the 
 adjustment to the relation, the change in conscious- 
 ness offers no peculiar difficulty to description. 
 
 To get a little first-hand information regarding 
 the adjustment to relations and the accompany- 
 ing consciousness, I have employed a simple form of 
 experiment, in which a relation is presented by 
 means of two terms between which it holds, and 
 a third term is given to which a fourth is to be 
 found such that it bears the same relation to the 
 third as the second bears to the first. In other 
 words, the problem is one in the "rule of three," 
 extended to other than numerical relations, a : b : : 
 c : x; find x. 
 
 In one form of this experiment the terms were 
 cards of two colors (red and green), of two shades, 
 of three shapes (squares, rectangles twice as long 
 as wide, and rectangles four times as long as wide), 
 and of two sizes (the squares being of 6 and 3 cm. 
 sides). With this material laid out before the 
 subject, a pair could be chosen to present any 
 one of a considerable number of relations, simple 
 and compound. The pair might be alike in all 
 respects ; the problem was then the simple one of 
 finding a fourth term exactly hke the third. Or, 
 the second term might have the same color as 
 the first, but a darker shade, the same height as the
 
 490 CONSCIOUSNESS OF RELATIONS 
 
 first but only half its width. The first pair were 
 placed side by side, and the third term below the 
 first; the subject, if an adult, was asked "to find 
 a fourth card which should have the same rela- 
 tion to the third as the second had to the first." 
 Adults readily perceived relations presented in this 
 way, though not always so accurately as was in- 
 tended; they often though not always named the 
 relation. The experiment was of more interest 
 when tried on children; so far I have tried it on 
 one boy of three-and-a-half years. Laying two 
 cards side by side, I said, **We will put these 
 two together," and, placing a third below the first, 
 asked, "Which card will go with this one then.?" 
 If the child failed to find the proper card quickly, 
 I picked it out for him, saying, "You see these 
 two go together just as the first two go together." 
 Then I placed a fifth card below the first and third, 
 and asked him to find its mate. It was not hard 
 to interest the child in this game, nor to make him 
 understand the rules of the game. To the simpler 
 relations he reacted quickly and surely; to the 
 more complex with some hesitation and error, but, 
 unless the relation was very complicated, he per- 
 ceived it at least roughly. He was clearly not act- 
 ing at random; and he was clearly matching 
 according to the relation presented, and not ac- 
 cording to the character of the individual terms. 
 He reacted successfully to relations for which he 
 had no names. It was clear that he was able to
 
 R. S. WOODWORTH 491 
 
 detach a relation from one pair of terms and transfer 
 it to another, and that the transfer was not always 
 accomplished by aid of the name of the relation. 
 
 The experiment was tried in another form with 
 adults, for the purpose of gaining introspective 
 evidence of the manner in which the relation was 
 present in consciousness during this process of 
 transfer from one pair of terms to another. The 
 problem took again the form, a:b::c:x, this form 
 being chosen because it does not supply, ready-made, 
 any name or other means of holding the relation 
 in mind. The relations employed were a varied 
 assortment, of which the following are examples : 
 
 London : England : : Paris : ? 
 
 Mice : cats : : worms : ? 
 
 Eyes : face : : a lake : } 
 
 The hand : the fist :: a nation : ? 
 
 A church organ : a banjo : : Hamlet : ? 
 From such experiments I received the following 
 kinds of testimony as to the feelings aroused : 
 
 1. ^Yhen the relation is easy to grasp and the 
 missing term readily found, very little conscious- 
 ness appears. "There was nothing in my mind," 
 said one of my subjects, "except that I wanted to 
 answer your question right." The answer comes 
 immediately on hearing the three given terms; 
 as in the case, "A boy : a man :: a girl : .^" 
 
 2. When there is more difficulty, the relation 
 sometimes receives a name before the answer is 
 found. In seeking a fourth term for the trio:
 
 492 CONSCIOUSNESS OF RELATIONS 
 
 "Jimmie : James :: Bessie : ?" the word "nick- 
 name" appeared in consciousness. 
 
 3. Sometimes the relation is pictured in some 
 form of imagery. In solving the problem, "Uncle : 
 aunt :: bull : .^" one subject had a visual image of 
 sexual relations. In solving the problem, "Yel- 
 low : blue :: violet : .?" one subject got a sche- 
 matic image of the color circle, and a sort of motor 
 image of drawing a diameter across from the 
 violet to the yellow-green. 
 
 4. Sometimes the subject reported that he felt 
 the relation, but did not name it nor have an 
 image of it, as in the case, "Bravery : courage :: 
 good humor : .'*" 
 
 In this form of exercise, the relation is suggested 
 by means of two terms between which it holds, 
 plus a third term which serves to indicate which of 
 the possible relations between the first two terms is 
 chosen. The relation must now be detached from 
 the first pair of terms and transferred to another 
 case. In the process of transfer, the relation some- 
 times does not exist at all in consciousness. Some- 
 times it has a name or image as its vehicle — an 
 image which is applicable alike to the case from 
 which the transfer is made and to the case to which 
 the transfer is made. Sometimes, however, and 
 very often indeed, the transfer is accomplished 
 without such a vehicle, though the relation remains 
 in consciousness. The feeling of relation appears 
 then as an "imageless thought," and seems as sub-
 
 R. S. WOODWORTH 493 
 
 stantial a component of consciousness as are the 
 feelings of the terms. It has as good a right to an 
 independent standing in psychological classifica- 
 tion as any other feeling. 
 
 To allow any independence to relations will per- 
 haps seem a very radical step, since they are agreed, 
 in logic, to have no standing or substance apart 
 from their terms. The terms might perhaps exist 
 without the relation, but the relation without the 
 terms — never ! This form of criticism, though 
 no doubt serviceable in logic, is distinctly inappli- 
 cable to psychology. Just as the axiom, "The 
 whole is equal to the sum of its parts," useful in 
 mathematics, cannot be carried over into psy- 
 chology in the form, "The feeling of the whole is 
 equal to the sum of the feelings of the parts," so the 
 logical axiom that a relation is nothing without its 
 terms should not be psychologically misinterpreted 
 to mean that a feeling of relation is nothing without 
 the feelings of its terms. The feeling of a relation 
 may exist without the feeling of any pair of terms, 
 as when we seek a pair of terms which shall stand 
 in a given relation — for example, that of great 
 dissimilarity — or as when, having the relation 
 and one term given, we seek for the missing term. 
 Adjustment to a relation is not included in the 
 adjustment to its terms, nor is consciousness of a 
 relation included in the consciousness of the terms. 
 The relation may be detached in thought from its
 
 494 CONSCIOUSNESS OF RELATIONS 
 
 terms, even as a quality may be detached from a 
 thing. Such detachment is necessary for thought 
 to progress, since what is observed in one case is 
 to be applied to another. 
 
 Feelings of relationship have a present standing 
 in psychology mostly in their evanescent or tran- 
 sitive form. On hearing them spoken of, one is 
 reminded first of all of the "Stream of Thought," 
 and of the convincing way in which they are there 
 used to exemplify those transitions in thought 
 which, though dynamically important, are so fleet- 
 ing as almost to elude observation. But I do not 
 understand the author of the "Stream of Thought" 
 to assert that feelings of relation must always be 
 evanescent. We do not speak of "a feeling of o/," 
 "a feeling of hut,^^ because the feelings expressed 
 by these words are of so transitional a character 
 that they will not stand still to be made the resting 
 place for thought. But we do speak of feehngs of 
 possession and of opposition. That is to say, the 
 same relations which are sometimes felt in so tran- 
 sitive a way that only a preposition or conjunction 
 can express the feeling, may also be felt strongly 
 and substantively, dwelt on, and made the subjects 
 of discourse. Corresponding to prepositions and 
 other relative parts of speech can usually be found 
 nouns, adjectives, and verbs which are used to ex- 
 press the same relations when they become the 
 topic of thought. Prepositions themselves often 
 receive an emphasis which indicates that the feel-
 
 R. S. WOODWORTH 495 
 
 ings which they express are the emphatic parts of 
 consciousness: "With or without," "Before or 
 behind time," "He that is not for me is against 
 me." There are other relations which have no rehi- 
 tive parts of speech to express them in the quick 
 and transitive form, and which are often the topic 
 of thought; superiority and inferiority, hkeness 
 and difi'erence, order and disorder, cost and value, 
 cheapness, economy, propriety, and aptitude are 
 examples. Some of these have prepositions now in 
 course of formation. A relation which has become 
 familiar and which has frequently to be recognized 
 and acted upon, tends, like any other subject of 
 thought, to be felt in a cursory and transitional 
 way, and so to demand something like a preposi- 
 tion for its expression. Things and qualities, as 
 well as relations, may be thought of in a transi- 
 tional way, especially when they are very familiar ; 
 but some of the relations are perhaps more familiar 
 than any thing or quality. Few things or qualities 
 are so common, or at least so commonly dealt with, 
 as the relations of near and far, more or less, mine 
 and thine. So practised do we become in dealing 
 with them that we slide over them with little hesita- 
 tion ; yet perhaps there is none of them but can 
 be made the object of prolonged scrutiny. 
 
 The lack of unity in a relation, its two-endedness 
 from the point of view of logic, creates no genuine 
 difficulty in psychology. Because a relation is
 
 496 CONSCIOUSNESS OF RELATIONS 
 
 bifurcated it does not follow that the feeling of it 
 is any less a unit than any other feeling. The re- 
 action to a bifurcated stimulus may be as simple 
 and single as other reactions. If, in putting to- 
 gether a machine, we observe two parts which fit 
 together, our reaction to this relation is a unit. The 
 reaction need not preserve the complexity of the 
 stimulus ; and what is thus true of motor reactions 
 applies equally well to central adjustments. The 
 adjustment to a relation is a unit, and the feeling 
 of a relation has none of the heart-rending com- 
 plexity and self-disruptiveness which so troubles 
 the student of metaphysics. 
 
 In terms of brain action: a complex stimulus, 
 affecting many and diverse parts of the brain, 
 may, through them, and as the combined result of 
 their activity, bring into action some one part or 
 little organ; and the action of this organ, once 
 aroused, is as simple as the action of an organ that is 
 aroused by a simple stimulus. There is no law that 
 a complex cause produces a complex effect, or that a 
 simple cause produces a simple effect ; instead, com- 
 position and resolution of forces are so common 
 as to be almost the rule. In the nervous system, we 
 have abundant evidence of the convergence and 
 divergence of stimuli; one organ may be excited 
 by the joint influence of several organs, and sev- 
 eral organs may be simultaneously excited by the 
 branching influence of one organ. A relation, how- 
 ever complex its manner of presentation, may
 
 R. S. WOODWORTH 497 
 
 arouse a single organ to activity. It does this, 
 sooner or later in its progress through the brain, 
 as is evidenced by the unity of the motor response 
 when, for example, we name the relation that 
 holds between two presented terms. The unity 
 perhaps does not arise until the motor parts of the 
 brain are reached ; but it seems much more prob- 
 able, in view of the large areas of the cortex which 
 are available for operations intervening between 
 sensation and movement, as well as of the patho- 
 logical evidence that such operations are localized 
 and have organs of their own ; in view further of 
 the fact that we become adjusted to perceived 
 relations without any evidence of corresponding 
 motor response at the moment of adjustment ; and 
 in view of the feelings of relation — in view of all 
 these facts it seems most probable that the unity of 
 adjustment to relations, groups, and other complex 
 stimuli is a function, not of the motor areas, but of 
 parts of the large region which goes by the name 
 of the "association areas." 
 
 If there are organs or foci in the cortex, the ac- 
 tivity of which constitutes an adjustment to a pre- 
 sented relation, there seems no reason why there 
 should not be corresponding feelings, nor why 
 these feelings should not have the general charac- 
 teristics of other feelings — for example, why 
 they should not be as simple as other feelings. And 
 introspection seems to show that they are as simple 
 as other feelings. No matter how complicated a 
 
 82
 
 498 CONSCIOUSNESS OF RELATIONS 
 
 relation may be when analyzed logically or repre- 
 sented by a diagram, it can be treated in thought 
 as a unit, and be felt as a unit. Relations may 
 become the terms between which other relations 
 are observed, and these higher relations may again 
 serve as terms. Were there no unity in a relation, 
 did it mean nothing for us apart from concrete terms 
 which must be pictured, this superposition of rela- 
 tions upon relations would soon result in an enor- 
 mous complexity of consciousness; whereas, in 
 fact, consciousness may be as clean and bold in its 
 design as when it is dealing with a few elementary 
 sense qualities. The mind of the mathematician, 
 when he has reached the later propositions of a the- 
 ory, and is dealing with what turn out on analysis to 
 be relations of relations of relations, is not the 
 spider's web of feelings of relation that analysis 
 would lead us to expect. Without being mathe- 
 matical, one still often has occasion to deal with 
 relations of a high order. My land, let us suppose, 
 has a boundary with very unequal sides and angles ; 
 my neighbor's plot is more nearly regular. This 
 inequality in the regularity of plots is characteristic 
 of our village, but is absent from a neighboring 
 village. This difference between villages is much 
 more characteristic of this part of the country than 
 of certain others. The diversity of the country in 
 this respect is in marked contrast with its uniformity 
 in certain other respects. It thus becomes hard 
 to say how far an observation made in one part
 
 R. S. WOODWORTH 499 
 
 of the country gives a fair sample of the country 
 as a whole ; and this condition of affairs, which is 
 much more pronounced here than in many other 
 countries, is at times perplexing to a foreign 
 observer. If the reader will draw a diagram of 
 the sky-scraper of relations which makes up the 
 "condition of affairs" which perplexes the foreign 
 observer, he will agree that nothing corresponding 
 to this analytic scheme congested his mind when 
 he thought the final sentence. On the contrary, 
 his consciousness may have been as simple at the 
 end of the course of thought as at the beginning. 
 A relation may be of any order or power, and still 
 have in consciousness a felt quality which is equally 
 simple, no matter what the order of the relation. 
 The feelings of relations are in fact of the same 
 order as feelings of sensory qualities. Each feeling 
 of relation is a simple quality. 
 
 Some hesitation will be felt about admitting feel- 
 ings of relation to a scientific standing, for the 
 reason that they are so essentially private ; it seems 
 impossible that we can ever come to agreement re- 
 garding them. As to the feelings of the terras, 
 when these are sensible objects, it seems that we 
 can experience them in common and so come to a 
 reasonable degree of agreement. But if there be 
 any consciousness additional to that of the terms, 
 it would seem that we could never arrive at a 
 common understanding and a generally accepted
 
 500 CONSCIOUSNESS OF RELATIONS 
 
 description. The difficulty is, however, not quite 
 correctly stated. We do not know, indeed, that my 
 feeling of a certain relation is like yours, we have 
 no means of placing the two side by side and com- 
 paring them. But this difficulty is not peculiar to 
 the feelings of relation, but holds of all feelings, of 
 all qualities of conscious experience. We do not 
 know that my feeling of red is of like quality with 
 your feeling of red. We can come to no agreement 
 regarding the sensory qualities. What we do 
 agree on is that red is the color of such and such 
 objects — that is, that these objects are alike in 
 color — we agree that red occurs also in a certain 
 part of the spectrum and corresponds to light of low 
 refrangibility ; we agree that it is more like orange 
 than yellow, that it is intermediate between orange 
 and purple, that it is very different from blue-green, 
 and is complementary to it. In other words, we 
 agree on the relations of red — both its time and 
 space relations and its relations of likeness and 
 difference. We also agree, or disagree, as to its 
 agreeableness, but this again can be defined only 
 in relation to the effect on us of other stimuli. But 
 as to its own peculiar quality, neither agreement 
 or disagreement can be reached. What we agree 
 or disagree on are exclusively relations, never 
 qualities of feeling. Thus the feelings of relation 
 suffer from no peculiar difficulty in connection 
 with the social sanctions of science. 
 
 When we wish to experience the same sensory
 
 R. S. AYOODWORTH 501 
 
 quality, we let ourselves be affected by the same 
 stimulus ; and we apply this method also when we 
 wish to experience a relation in common. To give 
 a child a knowledge of red as we know it, we place 
 before him a red ball, a red coat, a red toy, trying 
 to make the common quality prominent, and con- 
 trasting it with the blue color of other things. Sim- 
 ilarly, to make him acquainted with our notion of 
 such a relation as half, we show him half an apple, 
 half an orange, half a glass of water ; and these 
 we contrast with whole things and with fractions 
 larger and smaller than a half. Red, we tell him, 
 is what is there now, and what is different from 
 blue ; a half, too, is what is there now, and what is 
 different from a whole or a quarter. We do not 
 pretend to communicate to him the "what," but 
 only its relations. 
 
 So again, if we attempt to take scientific account 
 of mental imagery, we begin, as Galton did, by 
 putting different persons in the same situation. 
 "Think of your breakfast-table. Can you see it 
 before your mind's eye ? How does it compare 
 with the actual sensory presence, in vividness of 
 color, in distinctness of outline, in size, in position ? '* 
 I recently heard a group of psychologists thresh- 
 ing out this matter of imagery, and there was agree- 
 ment between several of them that the image, as 
 they experienced it, was not readily comparable 
 with sensation in regard to vividness and distinct- 
 ness. Their images, if they should be called such.
 
 502 CONSCIOUSNESS OF RELATIONS 
 
 seemed quite a different sort of thing from sensa- 
 tion. Their thoughts of objects had a one to one 
 correspondence with the objects, they were definite 
 in identifying them, and they were workable ; but 
 they were incommensurable with sensations. These 
 men were clearly talking throughout in terms of 
 relations — the relations of the thought of objects 
 to the sensations of objects and to the dealing with 
 objects. They did not attempt to compare their 
 actual feelings, save as the quality of the feeling 
 was indicated by the relations in which it stood. 
 The same procedure can be followed in comparing 
 our feelings of relations. When, for example, I 
 testify that the feeling which I have in attending 
 to a certain relation is sharply distinguished from 
 sensory experience, and that it has as much sim- 
 plicity as any other fact of consciousness, you can 
 place yourself in the same situation, and see 
 whether you agree with me. 
 
 When, therefore, we are enjoined to reduce all 
 conscious facts to sensation, on the ground that 
 we cannot possibly come to scientific agreement 
 in any other than sensory terms, those of us who 
 smart under the epistemological whip, and wish 
 we could be free to find what we find, may take 
 comfort in the reflection that the same kind of agree- 
 ment is possible regarding non- sensory feelings, 
 should such be found, as regarding sensations. 
 In both cases the agreement concerns the rela- 
 tions of the feelings, not their intimate qualities.
 
 R. S. WOODWORTH 503 
 
 This exclusive attention to relations is not pecu- 
 liar to psycholo<xy, but is characteristic of all science. 
 Science deals with relations, not with quahties. AVe 
 conceive quality as inherent in a thing, relation as 
 transcending the thing. The clearest example of 
 quality is found in consciousness. A given bit of 
 consciousness is just as it is ; its quality is im- 
 mediately and exhaustively given in its isolated 
 existence. No more quality is imported into it by 
 comparing it with anything outside itself. In point 
 of quality, it is as it is experienced. In point of 
 relation, however, it is not as it is experienced. It 
 has numerous relations of cause and effect, of 
 likeness and difference, of truth and value, which 
 can be discovered later, but are not known to it- 
 self. What is thus experientially seen to be true of 
 bits of consciousness is conceived as true also of 
 external things. A physical thing is thought of as 
 having a quality of its own.^ The quality is imma- 
 nent in the thing. A relation, on the contrary, 
 passes beyond the thing; it seems to have no self- 
 subsistence, and thus lays itself open to the destruc- 
 tive criticism which has been levelled at it for its 
 lack of independence. But the same characteristic 
 
 ' The quality of a thing is to be distinguished from its qualities. Its qual- 
 ity, or perhaps Ijetter its character, is im[)erfectly represented hy the sum of 
 its quahties, imperfectly l»ecause its quality covers the concomitince of the 
 particular quahties and their mutual relations. The quahties of an orange 
 arc its size, shape, weight, color, smell, taste, structure, its origin and histor}', 
 its u.se and destiny, its cost, its resthetic value, its standing in psychology as 
 the classic example of a thing. The quality or character of tiie orange includes 
 all of these with their mutual dependencies, and the unity of the whole thing.
 
 504 CONSCIOUSNESS OF RELATIONS 
 
 makes it a means of knowledge. To get knowledge, 
 thought must move. Quality affords no vehicle to 
 carry it; relation bears it onward. Hence science 
 deals with relations. A quality is to science the 
 sign of a problem; it is an unexplored country. 
 Exploration dissolves the quality into relations; it 
 gives us a map, which has indeed a quality of its 
 own, but not the quality of the country; but the 
 relations in the map are relations of the country. 
 As we pass from a naive to a scientific conception 
 of anything we leave qualities behind and come to 
 know relations. We first think of hardness, for 
 example, as a quahty residing in certain things; 
 but soon we see that a definition of hardness can 
 only be made by observing the relations of these 
 things to other things. Not satisfied, we try to 
 penetrate into the thing and see why it has these 
 relations; we come then to conceive of hardness 
 as a mutual relation between the particles of the 
 thing, thus substituting inner relations for outer in 
 our definition of the quality. The terms of a relation 
 are for scientific thought unanalyzed residues ; so 
 far as they retain any quality, they simply mark the 
 limit to which science has progressed. That qual- 
 ities are resolvable into relations is an essential 
 postulate of the scientific attitude, for as long as a 
 quality remains simply a quality, no description 
 or explanation, no classification or analysis, has 
 occurred. Qualities are not explanatory or dynamic 
 in any way ; they stay at home and are essentially
 
 R. S. WOODWORTH 505 
 
 private. They can be contemplated but not treated 
 discursively. They have aesthetic but not scientific 
 or practical value. 
 
 That every quality is decomposable into relations 
 is rather a postulate than an axiom ; on the other 
 hand, it seems almost axiomatic that every relation 
 constitutes a quality. Two terms in relation form 
 a group or whole, and the relation constitutes a 
 quality of the whole. If a husband and \\ife are 
 antagonistic, this relation between them consti- 
 tutes a quality of the family. The quality is an 
 inarticulate form of the same fact which is given 
 articulately in the relation. 
 
 The quality of an object, as felt by us, need not 
 tally with the quality of the object itself. As felt 
 by us, the quality is our own, and private as qual- 
 ities always are. We conceive the quality of the 
 object as likewise private to it. There seems to be 
 no cogent reason why the felt quality in us should 
 be a copy of the quality of the object. It is other- 
 wise with relations, which we believe, at any rate, 
 to be objective. No error is introduced into our 
 thought if qualities of our experience do not agree 
 with the qualities of objects ; while if the relations 
 perceived do not tally with the relations of the object, 
 we are in error. A relation transcends the thought 
 that thinks it. But it is not the feeling of the rela- 
 tion that is transcendent, for this feeling, like other 
 qualities, is private. It is hard to believe, when we 
 perceive one thing as larger than another, or in any
 
 506 CONSCIOUSNESS OF RELATIONS 
 
 way related to it, that the relation perceived does 
 not hold objectively ; but the peculiar feeling which 
 we experience in perceiving the relation need not 
 have any existence apart from the feeling itself. 
 Space as a "form of perception," if by this is meant 
 a felt quality, may very well be purely subjective 
 though spatial relations are objective. It is easier 
 to be an idealist in regard to qualities than in 
 regard to relations. In all this I speak as a psy- 
 chologist, I hope, rather than as a metaphysician. 
 Trying to think yourself into the idealistic attitude 
 I regard as a psychological experiment; and with 
 me the experiment succeeds pretty well as far as 
 concerns the sensory and conceived qualities of ob- 
 jects, but not at all as concerns their relations. 
 
 The feeling of a relation is itself a quality. What 
 has been said of the scientific value of relations 
 — and what might similarly be said of their prac- 
 tical utility — does not apply to the feelings of 
 relation. The utility of the feelings of relation is 
 by no means evident. The utility of adjusting our- 
 selves to relations is evident enough, but of what 
 use is the particular feeling that we have in the 
 process of adjustment ? The use of any conscious- 
 ness is hard to make out; but, granted that con- 
 sciousness is useful in a general way, of what use 
 are its special nuances ? I cannot fall back on the 
 argument from utility in supporting my view that 
 feelings of relation exist as independent facts of 
 consciousness ; and this may seem a decided weak-
 
 R. S. WOODWORTH 507 
 
 ness in the position. But I should answer that we 
 see the utihty of the particular qualities of sensa- 
 tion as little as that of the feelings of relation. That 
 red objects should look different from green ones 
 is useful, but what is the utility of that particular 
 quality, red ? Any other quality of feeling — save 
 perhaps pleasure and pain — would serve as well, 
 provided it presented the same relations of time 
 and place, likeness and difference. 
 
 It is then relations, or adjustment to relations, 
 and not the feelings of relations, that carry thought 
 forward. Introspection reveals no more agency 
 in this sort of feeling than in others. We cannot 
 couple together a train of judgments by the feel- 
 ings of relation existing between their terms. We 
 cannot by examining the feelings find out anything 
 about the subject-matter to which they refer. For 
 example, while mathematics seems to deal with 
 something inward rather than with physical ob- 
 jects, yet it is by no means an introspective study. 
 By studying the feelings of the relations which form 
 his subject-matter, no mathematician would make 
 progress in his analysis, lie is dealing with rela- 
 tions, not with the feelings of them. It is not then 
 by inference from their supposed effects or utility, 
 but only by direct accjuaintance with the feelings 
 themselves, that the knowledge of their existence 
 is reached.
 
 ON THE VARIABILITY OF INDIVIDUAL 
 JUDGMENT
 
 ON THE VARIABILITY OF INDIVIDUAL 
 JUDGMENT 
 
 By Frederic Lyman Wells 
 
 In the article "Statistics of American Psycholo- 
 gists " ^ Professor Catte]l calls attention to the 
 fact that if one endeavors to arrange and rearrange 
 in serial order a number of given objects, the posi- 
 tions successively given them will vary somewhat 
 as they would vary if the arrangements had been 
 made one each by different observers. If we under- 
 took to rearrange ten times a series of grays in 
 order of brightness, we should no more get the 
 same order each time than we should get identical 
 orders from ten different subjects. Nor would 
 our own orders vary approximately the same 
 amount from the average; sometimes we should 
 be better, sometimes worse, judges, just as among 
 our ten subjects some would be more discrimina- 
 tive, some less. The judgments of the same in- 
 dividual at different times are theoretically quite 
 comparable to those of different individuals re- 
 gardless of the factor of time. 
 
 In this way there may be illustrated a contin- 
 uum between the subjective and objective classes 
 
 » Am. J. Psych., Vol. XIV, 320-328. 
 511
 
 512 VARIABILITY OF JUDGMENTS 
 
 of judgment. In the case of grays, weights, or 
 lines we assume a certain standard which we term 
 the objective order, and which we determine 
 through photometry or some analogous method. 
 Because we have such methods, we do not need to 
 have recourse to individual judgments to determine 
 objective values, and these individual judgments 
 give us a part of the personal equation; the indi- 
 vidual's sensibility to light, weight, etc. On the 
 other hand, we have such subjective judgment as 
 preferences in sculpture, painting, or music. In 
 the first class we may arrange individuals in pre- 
 cise order for accuracy of discrimination; in the 
 second, one may with equally good taste vary his 
 preferences within a considerable range. So far as 
 any distinction on a statistical basis is possible, 
 we might consider as subjective those types in 
 which the various judgments of the individual 
 formed a species of their own, varying from each 
 other considerably less than from an equal num- 
 ber of judgments made by different individuals; 
 and consider as objective those in which an indi- 
 vidual would vary from his own independent 
 judgments about as much as the variation of an 
 equal number of judgments by different individ- 
 uals. For example, if A and B arranged ten pieces 
 of music in order of preference, the orders would 
 centre about each individual's own standard; but 
 if A, B, C, D, etc., arranged ten graduated weights, 
 the orders would theoretically all centre about a
 
 FREDERIC LYMAN WELLS 513 
 
 common standard, the objective order of heavi- 
 ness. The two categories would almost certainly 
 be continuous. We may first consider from this 
 viewpoint types of this first, or highly subjective, 
 class of judgments, and compare these subse- 
 quently with examples of a more objective type. 
 
 Experiments in Preference 
 
 An obvious and serious difficulty with all ex- 
 periments involving repeated judgments of the 
 same thing are the factors of recognition and 
 memory. Especially is this true of judgments of 
 subjective preference with which we are to be here 
 concerned. If the subject remembers his previous 
 judgments, he will in spite of himself order his 
 successive ones accordingly. The only practicable 
 ways of meeting this difficulty are to make the 
 series to be arranged as long as possible, and to 
 allow as much time as possible to elapse between 
 the successive arrangements. A certain homo- 
 geneity in the series is necessary, and this made 
 the selection of suitable material no easy task. A 
 series of fifty colored souvenir postal cards, to be 
 graded in order of individual preference, was 
 finally decided upon as the most practical ap- 
 proach to the problem.^ The cards were approved 
 
 * The psychological possibilities of the souvenir postal card have l)een in- 
 sufBciently ap{)rcciated. They afford an inexhaustible mine of material for 
 experitnents in rccog^nition memory and kindred processes, for which there 
 is no other readily accessible apparatus. 
 
 S3
 
 514 VARIABILITY OF JUDGMENTS 
 
 by the writer from selections made from the sam- 
 ple books of the Rotograph Company. They are 
 all views of natural scenery, with the works of 
 man a subordinate feature. In a few cards these 
 last are altogether absent. The fifty cards were 
 arranged by the five subjects, A-E, five times 
 each, one week elapsing between each individual's 
 successive arrangements. Single arrangements 
 were also made by five additional subjects, F-J, 
 and these, combined with the first arrangements 
 of A-E, give, for comparison, a series of ten ar- 
 rangements by different subjects. Subjects A, B, 
 and C are men of special psychological training, 
 D and E are women of moderate psychological 
 training. Of the five subjects making single ar- 
 rangements, all are men of special, though widely 
 differing, psychological training. From these ex- 
 periments are gathered the data to be discussed 
 below. 
 
 The uniform attitude of the subjects toward 
 the experiment was one of lack of confidence in the 
 judgments. The time required to make a single 
 arrangement varied from 15 to 45 minutes, the 
 women taking as a rule longer than the men, and 
 the time, of course, decreasing with the successive 
 arrangements. So far as exact positions of the 
 cards were concerned, the subjects who made re- 
 peated judgments reported complete oblivescence 
 except now and then with regard to first or last 
 positions. Of course a remembered judgment
 
 FREDERIC LY:MAN WELLS 515 
 
 was not necessarily repeated nor were repeated 
 judgments necessarily remembered ; subject E 
 placed the same card last in each arrangement, 
 and at the close expressed surprise at finding that 
 she had done so. One subject expressed absolute 
 certainty that new cards were being successively 
 introduced. There was naturally subjective efFort 
 to judge independently of previous arrangements. 
 Certain features are to be noted in the results in- 
 dicating that the memory difficulty was fairly 
 satisfactorily met. 
 
 The subjoined Table I gives under X the order, 
 average positions, and m. v. (not p. e.) of the 
 single arrangements by the ten subjects. Column 
 V is a combination of the records of subjects A-E 
 which will be described below. Table II gives 
 in detail the results of the five successive arrange- 
 ments by each of the subjects A-E. To anyone 
 interested in the statistics of such arrangements 
 they will perhaps repay a more careful examination 
 than it is possible to give them here. 
 
 AVhen the subjects made the arrangements, it 
 was customary to hesitate considerably on the 
 first few and then to proceed at about an equal, 
 or perhaps slightly increasing, rate to the end. This 
 hardly reflects the size of the differences, which 
 are presumably greatest at the ends. It is due 
 merely to a natural tendency to exercise greater 
 care at the beginning of the experiment. So far 
 as the actual order is concerned they cannot have
 
 516 VARIABILITY OF JUDGMENTS 
 
 TABLE I 
 
 X (Results for 
 
 Ten Subjects) 
 
 V (Av. OF Table U) \ 
 
 
 Roto- 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Order. 
 
 graph Co. 
 Serial No. 
 
 Position. 
 
 M. V. 
 
 Order. 
 
 Position. 
 
 M.V. 
 
 1 
 
 5442 
 
 12.6 
 
 10.2 
 
 1 
 
 2.6 
 
 1.3 
 
 2 
 
 5511 
 
 13.3 
 
 8.8 
 
 2 
 
 4.0 
 
 2.3 
 
 3 
 
 5353 
 
 13.6 
 
 7.7 
 
 3 
 
 5.8 
 
 3.1 
 
 4 
 
 2460 
 
 14.1 
 
 6.3 
 
 4 
 
 6.8 
 
 2.9 
 
 5 
 
 7384 
 
 15.0 
 
 10.4 
 
 5 
 
 7.4 
 
 3.8 
 
 6 
 
 106 6 
 
 15.8 
 
 9.6 
 
 6 
 
 8.4 
 
 4.4 
 
 7 
 
 30 a 
 
 16.7 
 
 9.6 
 
 7 
 
 9.6 
 
 6.4 
 
 8 
 
 6151 
 
 17.0 
 
 10.8 
 
 8 
 
 10.2 
 
 2.3 
 
 9 
 
 8708 
 
 17.4 
 
 7.0 
 
 9 
 
 10.6 
 
 2.3 
 
 10 
 
 5521 
 
 17.6 
 
 4.6 
 
 10 
 
 12.0 
 
 5.3 
 
 11 
 
 7118 
 
 18.0 
 
 11.1 
 
 11 
 
 12.8 
 
 4.5 
 
 12 
 
 7198 
 
 19.4 
 
 10.2 
 
 12 
 
 13.4 
 
 5.2 
 
 13 
 
 6236 
 
 20.6 
 
 8.8 
 
 13 
 
 14.0 
 
 5.1 
 
 14 
 
 7196 
 
 21.1 
 
 14.7 
 
 14 
 
 15.0 
 
 5.0 
 
 15 
 
 3893 
 
 21.4 
 
 13.2 
 
 15 
 
 15.8 
 
 7.0 
 
 16 
 
 2012 
 
 22.0 
 
 9.2 
 
 16 
 
 17.6 
 
 6.0 
 
 17 
 
 6182 
 
 22.5 
 
 10.7 
 
 17 
 
 18.6 
 
 5.0 
 
 18 
 
 5626 
 
 22.7 
 
 10.7 
 
 18 
 
 19.2 
 
 5.1 
 
 19 
 
 7570 
 
 23.0 
 
 11.4 
 
 19 
 
 19.8 
 
 6.2 
 
 20 
 
 6976 
 
 23.4 
 
 10.4 
 
 20 
 
 21.0 
 
 6.0 
 
 21 
 
 6156 
 
 23.4 
 
 10.8 
 
 21 
 
 21.6 
 
 6.4 
 
 22 
 
 5560 
 
 23.9 
 
 12.9 
 
 22 
 
 21.8 
 
 4.9 
 
 23 
 
 7125 
 
 24.4 
 
 10.6 
 
 23 
 
 23.0 
 
 5.4 
 
 24 
 
 5710 
 
 24.5 
 
 10.3 
 
 24 
 
 25.0 
 
 5.6 
 
 25 
 
 7171 
 
 25.1 
 
 16.4 
 
 25 
 
 26.0 
 
 7.0
 
 FREDERIC LY^IAN WELLS 
 
 517 
 
 T-VBLE l — c(mt!nned 
 
 X (U 
 
 FSCLTS FOB 
 
 'Vis SvBjKcrs) 
 
 V (Av. OF Table II) | 
 
 
 lloto- 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Ortler. 
 
 graph Co. 
 StTial No. 
 
 Po.sition. 
 
 M. V. 
 
 Order. 
 
 Position. 
 
 M. V. 
 
 26 
 
 5871 
 
 26.4 
 
 11.1 
 
 26 
 
 26.8 
 
 4.7 
 
 27 
 
 911 
 
 26.5 
 
 14.1 
 
 27 
 
 27.4 
 
 6.0 
 
 28 
 
 7522 
 
 27.0 
 
 12.2 
 
 28 
 
 28.0 
 
 6.0 
 
 29 
 
 184 
 
 27.0 
 
 16.4 
 
 29 
 
 28.6 
 
 3.9 
 
 30 
 
 16103 
 
 27.4 
 
 10.8 1 
 
 30 
 
 29.2 
 
 4.3 
 
 31 
 
 6264 
 
 27.6 
 
 8.0 
 
 31 
 
 30.0 
 
 6.5 
 
 32 
 
 7170 
 
 28.1 
 
 6.7 
 
 32 
 
 30 4 
 
 6.2 
 
 33 
 
 5731 
 
 28.8 
 
 8.8 
 
 33 
 
 82.2 
 
 5.0 
 
 34 
 
 5439 
 
 29.1 
 
 12.1 
 
 34 
 
 33.0 
 
 4.8 
 
 85 
 
 7197 
 
 29.3 
 
 9.3 
 
 35 
 
 33.6 
 
 5.8 
 
 36 
 
 8706 
 
 29.6 
 
 8.2 
 
 36 
 
 34.4 
 
 6.8 
 
 37 
 
 5570 
 
 29.9 
 
 14.5 
 
 37 
 
 34.6 
 
 5.0 
 
 38 
 
 25508 
 
 30.2 
 
 11.4 
 
 1 
 
 38 
 
 35.0 
 
 5.0 
 
 39 
 
 6442 
 
 80.3 
 
 10.9 i 
 
 39 
 
 36.2 
 
 4.8 
 
 40 
 
 6547 
 
 30.4 
 
 9.2 
 
 40 
 
 36.4 
 
 6.0 
 
 41 
 
 5727 
 
 30.5 
 
 16.7 
 
 41 
 
 87.4 
 
 4.8 
 
 42 
 
 8704 
 
 31.0 
 
 11.0 
 
 42 
 
 39.2 
 
 4.0 
 
 43 
 
 2103 
 
 32.6 
 
 12.3 
 
 43 
 
 40.4 
 
 5.8 
 
 44 
 
 6070 
 
 32.7 
 
 13.0 
 
 44 
 
 42.0 
 
 8.5 
 
 4.5 
 
 6976 a 
 
 34.8 
 
 5.9 
 
 45 
 
 43.2 
 
 3.9 
 
 46 
 
 7026 
 
 35.5 
 
 8.1 
 
 46 
 
 44.6 
 
 3.0 
 
 47 
 
 2010 
 
 36.6 
 
 8.6 
 
 47 
 
 45.4 
 
 2.0 
 
 48 
 
 5862 
 
 36.6 
 
 10.8 1 
 
 48 
 
 46.6 
 
 2.0 
 
 49 
 
 5800 
 
 38.4 
 
 10.2 
 
 49 
 
 48.0 
 
 1.2 
 
 50 
 
 12S5 
 
 43.1 
 
 5.1 
 
 50 
 
 49.6 
 
 0.6
 
 518 VARIABILITY OF JUDGMENTS 
 
 TABLE II 
 
 Or- 
 der 
 
 Roto- 
 graph Co. 
 
 Serial No. 
 
 A 
 
 Roto- 
 graph Co. 
 Serial No. 
 
 B 
 
 Roto- 
 
 Posi- 
 tion 
 
 M.V. 
 
 Posi- 
 tion 
 
 M.V. 
 
 graph Co. 
 Serial No. 
 
 1 
 
 6353 
 
 1 
 
 0.0 
 
 7384 
 
 4 
 
 1.8 
 
 6156 
 
 2 
 
 6521 
 
 8 
 
 1.2 
 
 5442 
 
 6 
 
 4.4 
 
 6264 
 
 3 
 
 106 6 
 
 4 
 
 2.0 
 
 2460 
 
 7 
 
 5.2 
 
 5731 
 
 4 
 
 5560 
 
 6 
 
 1.8 
 
 25508 
 
 8 
 
 4.8 
 
 6670 
 
 5 
 
 5511 
 
 7 
 
 3.4 
 
 6151 
 
 9 
 
 8.0 
 
 8704 
 
 6 
 
 6182 
 
 7 
 
 3.8 
 
 2012 
 
 10 
 
 7.6 
 
 2102 
 
 7 
 
 6151 
 
 8 
 
 0.8 
 
 7196 
 
 11 
 
 9.6 
 
 7196 
 
 8 
 
 5442 
 
 8 
 
 2.0 
 
 5560 
 
 12 
 
 2.6 
 
 5511 
 
 9 
 
 6976 
 
 9 
 
 3.4 
 
 5353 
 
 13 
 
 8.4 
 
 7197 
 
 10 
 
 30 o 
 
 12 
 
 4.4 
 
 8708 
 
 14 
 
 9.4 
 
 7198 
 
 11 
 
 5871 
 
 13 
 
 3.6 
 
 7522 
 
 15 
 
 6.2 
 
 16103 
 
 12 
 
 7125 
 
 14 
 
 3.8 
 
 106 6 
 
 15 
 
 9.8 
 
 8708 
 
 13 
 
 7118 
 
 15 
 
 4.8 
 
 6442 
 
 15 
 
 8.8 
 
 5521 
 
 14 
 
 5710 
 
 15 
 
 0.8 
 
 6226 
 
 [l8 
 
 7.6 
 
 5710 
 
 15 
 
 7384 
 
 15 
 
 4.6 
 
 5439 
 
 1 ^^ 
 
 11.2 
 
 5727 
 
 16 
 
 2460 
 
 17 
 
 6.4 
 
 8706 
 
 1-19 
 
 9.4 
 
 5570 
 
 17 
 
 7522 
 
 17 
 
 3.4 
 
 6156 
 
 J 19 
 
 3.4 
 
 184 
 
 18 
 
 j 911 
 
 18 
 
 2.4 
 
 5871 
 
 I 19 
 
 6.2 
 
 7384 
 
 19 
 
 [ 6626 
 
 18 
 
 2.2 
 
 2013 
 
 19 
 
 10.0 
 
 5303 
 
 20 
 
 6226 
 
 19 
 
 4.2 
 
 6182 
 
 20 
 
 6.0 
 
 8706 
 
 21 
 
 7570 
 
 20 
 
 1.8 
 
 911 
 
 20 
 
 12.2 
 
 6151 
 
 22 
 
 16103 
 
 20 
 
 5.4 
 
 8893 
 
 21 
 
 6.2 
 
 5442 
 
 23 
 
 6156 
 
 23 
 
 6.0 
 
 309 
 
 21 
 
 12.2 
 
 911 
 
 24 
 
 5731 
 
 26 
 
 2.8 
 
 5710 
 
 25 
 
 4.0 
 
 2013 
 
 25 
 
 1285 
 
 26 
 
 6.4 
 
 6796 
 
 26 
 
 9.0 
 
 106 h
 
 FREDERIC LY:\IAN WELLS 
 
 TABLE U — cmtinufd 
 
 519 
 
 - 
 
 C 
 
 Roto- 
 praph Co. 
 Serial No. 
 
 1 D 
 
 Roto- 
 graph Co. 
 
 Serial No. 
 
 ' E 1 
 
 Posi- 
 tion 
 
 M.V. 
 
 Posi- 
 tion 
 
 M. V. 
 
 Posi- 
 tion 
 
 M. V. 
 
 3 
 
 0.8 
 
 7384 
 
 3 
 
 3.0 
 
 7884 
 
 2 
 
 1.0 
 
 4 
 
 3.4 
 
 5353 
 
 3 
 
 1.2 
 
 5511 
 
 4 
 
 1.2 
 
 6 
 
 1.4 
 
 6976 
 
 6 
 
 8.4 
 
 5442 
 
 6 
 
 3.4 
 
 7 
 
 3.2 
 
 6151 
 
 6 
 
 1.6 
 
 16103 
 
 7 
 
 3.0 
 
 7 
 
 2.8 
 
 5521 
 
 7 
 
 4.8 
 
 5353 
 
 7 
 
 4.8 
 
 9 
 
 4.2 
 
 8893 
 
 8 
 
 3.4 
 
 2460 
 
 8 
 
 8.1 
 
 11 
 
 8.8 
 
 5511 
 
 I 9 
 
 5.2 
 
 5521 
 
 9 
 
 5.6 
 
 
 ■ 13 
 
 8.0 
 
 5710 
 
 1» 
 
 5.6 
 
 5676 
 
 9 
 
 4.2 
 
 - 
 
 13 
 
 6.8 
 
 5560 
 
 9 
 
 1.6 
 
 3893 
 
 9 
 
 2.2 
 
 
 13 
 
 2.4 
 
 6182 
 
 10 
 
 2.0 
 
 62G4 
 
 t 
 
 11 
 
 8.4 
 
 14 
 
 4.8 
 
 7125 
 
 10 
 
 2.6 
 
 1 
 
 6226 
 
 12 
 
 5.4 
 
 lu 
 
 6.0 
 
 2460 
 
 1" 
 
 2.6 
 
 7118 
 
 12 
 
 3.6 
 
 u 
 
 4.0 
 
 106 6 
 
 11 
 
 3.0 
 
 5727 
 
 u 
 
 4.8 
 
 15 
 
 8.2 
 
 30 a 
 
 11 
 
 5.2 
 
 5439 
 
 16 
 
 3.4 
 
 16 
 
 10.2 
 
 7118 
 
 12 
 
 3.6 
 
 6976 
 
 18 
 
 5.6 
 
 18 
 
 6.4 
 
 5442 
 
 15 
 
 3.4 
 
 7198 
 
 19 
 
 4.6 
 
 19 
 
 3.2 
 
 6670 
 
 17 
 
 3.2 
 
 184 
 
 21 
 
 11.8 
 
 20 
 
 8.6 
 
 7570 
 
 18 
 
 2.6 
 
 6442 
 
 21 
 
 5.8 
 
 22 
 
 8.0 
 
 8708 
 
 19 
 
 2.8 
 
 7125 
 
 21 
 
 7.8 
 
 22 
 
 9.6 
 
 6442 
 
 22 
 
 3.4 
 
 106 6 
 
 C 22 i 
 
 6.6 
 
 23 
 
 9.6 
 
 911 
 
 23 
 
 3.8 
 
 6976 a 
 
 1 22 1 
 
 4.8 
 
 23 
 
 3.0 
 
 6264 
 
 23 
 
 2.2 
 
 7570 
 
 22 
 
 7.6 
 
 23 
 
 6.8 
 
 6226 
 
 24 
 
 4.0 
 
 6547 
 
 24 
 
 12.8 
 
 24 
 
 9.0 
 
 7522 
 
 25 
 
 5.0 
 
 5802 
 
 25 
 
 7.2 
 
 25 
 
 6.8 
 
 7196 
 
 26 
 
 6.2 
 
 5731 
 
 27 ' 
 
 6.6
 
 520 VARIABILITY OF JUDGMENTS 
 
 TABLE II — continued 
 
 Or- 
 der 
 
 Roto- 
 graph Co. 
 Serial No. 
 
 A 
 
 Roto- 
 graph Co. 
 Serial No. 
 
 B 
 
 Roto- 
 
 Posi- 
 tion 
 
 M. V. 
 
 Posi- 
 tion 
 
 M.V. 
 
 graph Co. 
 Serial No. 
 
 96 
 
 7198 
 
 27 
 
 6.2 
 
 7125 
 
 26 
 
 8.4 
 
 6976 
 
 27 
 
 3893 
 
 28 
 
 6.8 
 
 2010 
 
 26 
 
 6.4 
 
 6182 
 
 28 
 
 5570 
 
 28 
 
 3.0 
 
 5862 
 
 27 
 
 10.4 
 
 6226 
 
 29 
 
 7196 
 
 29 
 
 4.0 
 
 718 
 
 28 
 
 5.6 
 
 30 a 
 
 30 
 
 7170 
 
 SO 
 
 2.0 
 
 7026 
 
 29 
 
 5.6 
 
 7171 
 
 31 
 
 184 
 
 31 
 
 8.6 
 
 5321 
 
 29 
 
 4.2 
 
 7170 
 
 32 
 
 6264 
 
 32 
 
 3.2 
 
 1285 
 
 29 
 
 9.2 
 
 5871 
 
 33 
 
 6547 
 
 34 
 
 3.4 
 
 7198 
 
 31 
 
 8.6 
 
 5560 
 
 34 
 
 7197 
 
 34 
 
 2.4 
 
 8704 
 
 32 
 
 5.8 
 
 7570 
 
 35 
 
 5439 
 
 35 
 
 6.8 
 
 6264 
 
 32 
 
 6.0 
 
 6547 
 
 36 
 
 7171 
 
 36 
 
 4.2 
 
 7170 
 
 32 
 
 7.8 
 
 2010 
 
 37 
 
 8704 
 
 36 
 
 3.2 
 
 5511 
 
 33 
 
 3.0 
 
 2460 
 
 38 
 
 8708 
 
 36 
 
 2.8 
 
 5626 
 
 34 
 
 5.2 
 
 5626 
 
 39 
 
 2012 
 
 37 
 
 5.2 
 
 16103 
 
 35 
 
 4.2 
 
 7522 
 
 40 
 
 5727 
 
 37 
 
 4.8 
 
 6976 a 
 
 [35 
 
 8.6 
 
 3983 
 
 41 
 
 6976 a 
 
 38 
 
 5.6 
 
 5370 
 
 35 
 
 8.2 
 
 25508 
 
 42 
 
 6670 
 
 40 
 
 3.6 
 
 6547 
 
 38 
 
 4.4 
 
 5439 
 
 43 
 
 8706 
 
 41 
 
 4.4 
 
 5727 
 
 38 
 
 8.8 
 
 1285 
 
 44 
 
 25508 
 
 44 
 
 1.4 
 
 5731 
 
 41 
 
 6.0 
 
 7125 
 
 45 
 
 6442 
 
 45 
 
 2.2 
 
 7170 
 
 42 
 
 3.4 
 
 7118 
 
 46 
 
 5862 
 
 45 
 
 0.8 
 
 5860 
 
 44 
 
 3.6 
 
 6976 
 
 47 
 
 2013 
 
 46 
 
 2.0 
 
 6670 
 
 45 
 
 1.0 
 
 7026 
 
 48 
 
 7026 
 
 47 
 
 1.2 
 
 184 
 
 48 
 
 1.2 
 
 6442 
 
 49 
 
 2010 
 
 48 
 
 1.2 
 
 7171 
 
 49 
 
 1.0 
 
 5862 
 
 50 
 
 5860 
 
 50 
 
 0.0 
 
 7197 
 
 49 
 
 1.6 
 
 5860 
 
 The positions are given to the nearest positive integer only ; the orders
 
 FREDERIC LYMAN WELLS 
 
 TABLE 11 — concluded 
 
 521 
 
 c 
 
 Koto- 
 graph Co. 
 Serial No. 
 
 D 
 
 Roto- 
 graph Co. 
 Serial No. 
 
 ^ 1 
 
 Posi- 
 tion 
 
 M. V. 
 
 Posi- 
 tion 
 
 M. V. 
 
 Posi- 
 tion 
 
 M. V. 
 
 27 
 
 3.0 
 
 25508 
 
 f 27 
 
 3.6 
 
 2012 
 
 27 
 
 2.2 
 
 28 
 
 5.2 
 
 5439 
 
 Ut 
 
 4.6 
 
 30 a 
 
 28 
 
 7.0 
 
 28 
 
 4.2 
 
 5871 
 
 28 
 
 4.8 
 
 5710 
 
 29 
 
 7.6 
 
 29 
 
 5.6 
 
 5626 
 
 j' 28 
 
 2.2 
 
 7197 
 
 29 
 
 2.2 
 
 29 
 
 4.8 
 
 6156 
 
 1 28 
 
 4.2 
 
 7170 
 
 30 
 
 6.0 
 
 30 
 
 8.8 
 
 7198 
 
 29 
 
 2.4 
 
 8708 
 
 81 
 
 8.6 
 
 30 
 
 5.6 
 
 7170 
 
 29 
 
 4.2 
 
 7196 
 
 32 
 
 9.0 
 
 31 
 
 7.0 
 
 6976 a 
 
 32 
 
 2.6 
 
 6182 
 
 83 
 
 3.2 
 
 32 
 
 6.4 
 
 16103 
 
 34 
 
 1.4 
 
 6151 
 
 S3 
 
 8.2 
 
 32 
 
 9.8 
 
 2012 
 
 36 
 
 2.0 
 
 8706 
 
 83 
 
 4.6 
 
 33 
 
 8.4 
 
 7197 
 
 1" 37 
 
 5.6 
 
 5860 
 
 84 
 
 8.0 
 
 33 
 
 8.8 
 
 5862 
 
 I 37 
 
 2.4 
 
 6670 
 
 34 
 
 7.4 
 
 
 ' 33 
 
 9.4 
 
 5860 
 
 37 
 
 1.8 
 
 7026 
 
 35 
 
 5.6 
 
 - 
 
 33 
 
 9.6 
 
 2013 
 
 40 
 
 1.6 
 
 5871 
 
 86 
 
 3.6 
 
 
 . 33 
 
 10.6 
 
 2010 
 
 40 
 
 1.4 
 
 25508 
 
 37 
 
 4.4 
 
 36 
 
 3.4 
 
 5727 
 
 41 
 
 2.8 
 
 5500 
 
 37 
 
 3.8 
 
 39 
 
 4.6 
 
 7026 
 
 42 
 
 2.4 
 
 7171 
 
 37 
 
 5.2 
 
 40 
 
 7.2 
 
 5731 
 
 43 
 
 2.6 
 
 911 
 
 40 
 
 5.8 
 
 41 
 
 2.0 
 
 5570 
 
 44 
 
 2.6 
 
 2010 
 
 40 
 
 5.6 
 
 42 
 
 5.2 
 
 6547 
 
 45 
 
 0.6 
 
 2013 
 
 42 
 
 8.2 
 
 45 
 
 3.0 
 
 8704 
 
 46 
 
 3.2 
 
 8704 
 
 ' 43 
 
 4.4 
 
 47 
 
 0.8 
 
 7171 
 
 46 
 
 2.6 
 
 7522 
 
 43 
 
 3.6 
 
 ' 47 
 
 3.0 
 
 8706 
 
 47 
 
 1.6 
 
 6156 
 
 44 
 
 3.2 
 
 I" 
 
 2.2 
 
 184 
 
 48 
 
 0.8 
 
 5570 
 
 48 
 
 0.8 
 
 50 
 
 0.0 
 
 12S5 
 
 49 
 
 I.e. 
 
 1285 
 
 50 
 
 0.0 
 
 ar 
 
 e cone 
 
 ct to a s 
 
 inaller scal( 
 
 , etiual 
 
 Kxsitious 
 
 being indie 
 
 ated by 
 
 ^rackets.
 
 522 VARIABILITY OF JUDGMENTS 
 
 much bearing upon the experimental study of aesthet- 
 ics, because the material would be too diflScult to 
 standardize for this purpose. Certain of the cards 
 necessarily fall into groups through similarity of 
 subject or color scheme, and these tend to keep 
 rather together in position, also through the fact 
 that they tend to become associated in memory. 
 So far as establishing any objective basis for criteria 
 of preferability is concerned, the results seem to me 
 almost entirely negative. 
 
 It will perhaps be easier to consider in some 
 detail the figures in Table I as a preliminary to 
 the special results of the repeated arrangements 
 in Table II. Column X presents almost a chaos 
 of variability, the extreme range barely covering 
 30 places, with one exception only 26. The m. v.'s 
 average nearly 11 places and range from the least 
 variable card with an m. v. of 4.6 to the most vari- 
 able with an m. v. of 16.7 over an approximately 
 normal distribution as follows : 
 
 Variation 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
 7 
 
 8 
 
 9 
 
 10 
 
 11 
 
 12 
 
 13 
 
 14 
 
 15 
 
 16 
 
 17 
 
 No. cases 
 
 2 
 
 2 
 
 1 
 
 5 
 
 7 
 
 8 
 
 IS 
 
 3 
 
 8 
 
 2 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 1 
 
 Among the individual variations there are many 
 above 25, the highest being 32. Card 2460, in 
 which this variation occurs, has an average posi- 
 tion of 33, and the individual places assigned to it 
 by the ten subjects are respectively 42, 1, 40, 37, 
 43, 2, 42, 42, 41. A card graded first by one sub- 
 ject was in two cases graded last by another ; in a 
 third, next to the last. One of the former is the
 
 FREDERIC LY:VIAN W^LLS 523 
 
 most variable card, 5727, and its ^ades are 
 respectively 48, 44, 1, 43, G, 48, 24, 33, 8, 50. The 
 grades of the least variable card, 5521, are 2, 32, 
 17, 14, 20, 20, 15, 18, 20, 18; position 17.6. Any- 
 one acquainted with the meaninf]^ of such figures 
 as those given above must recognize the futility 
 of attempting to evolve from them an order of any 
 objective value. 
 
 This is much modified in the repeated arrange- 
 ments by the same subject. It was noted above, 
 that in objective judgments, as of weights, we 
 should, theoretically, vary as much from our- 
 selves as other people varied from each other, and 
 from the comparison of these two variabilities 
 might be deduced the degree of objectivity of the 
 judgments. In the repeated arrangements it is 
 at once evident that the range is much greater 
 and the variability smaller. A table most com- 
 parable to X is given under V, which is computed 
 as follows* Subject A's best card, as will be seen 
 from Table II, receives an average of 1, B's an 
 average of 4, C's 3, D's 3, and E's 2. Thus the 
 average position of the best card of the five repeated 
 judgments by five su])jects is 2.G, and the average 
 of tlie respective m. v.'s is 1.3, as opposed to 12. G 
 and 10.2 for individual judgments by ten suljjects. 
 The figures for last position are seen to be 49.6 
 and .6 as against 43.1 and 5.1. Of course the 
 extreme positions might unduly favor the repeated 
 judgments in this respect. But the figures for the
 
 524 VARIABILITY OF JUDGMENTS 
 
 middle jSve judgments are respectively 24.6 and 
 5.7 as against 25.6 and 12.4. Table III below 
 gives a basis for a more complete comparison of 
 the two variabilities. Each series in Table II 
 contains 50 average judgments, consequently 50 
 m. v.'s in all. These have been divided into 10 
 consecutive groups of 5 each. Thus under 1-5 and 
 opposite A we find 1.7, which is the average of the 
 m. v.'s of the five cards which stood highest as a 
 result of A's five consecutive arrangements. Un- 
 der 15-20 and opposite D is 3.1, the average m. v. 
 of cards 16-20 from the series of five arrangements 
 by D, etc. Opposite Av. are given the averages 
 of the five subjects for each set of five consecu- 
 tive positions. At the bottom are given the aver- 
 age m. v.'s for the various groups of positions as 
 assigned by the ten subjects. 
 
 TABLE III 
 
 Average M. V. fob each set of Five CoNSECxmvE Positions 
 Positions 
 
 Subject 
 
 1-5 
 
 5-10 
 
 10-15 
 
 15-20 
 
 20-25 
 
 25-30 
 
 30-35 
 
 35-40 
 
 40-45 
 
 45-50 
 
 A 
 
 1.7 
 
 2.9 
 
 3.5 
 
 3.7 
 
 4.5 
 
 4.4 
 
 4.9 
 
 4.0 
 
 3.4 
 
 1.0 
 
 B 
 
 3.8 
 
 7.5 
 
 8.7 
 
 7.0 
 
 8.7 
 
 7.3 
 
 6.8 
 
 5.8 
 
 6.2 
 
 1.7 
 
 C 
 
 2.3 
 
 5.0 
 
 6.6 
 
 7.2 
 
 7.0 
 
 4.6 
 
 7.5 
 
 9.8 
 
 4.5 
 
 1.8 
 
 D 
 
 2.8 
 
 3.6 
 
 3.4 
 
 3.1 
 
 4.2 
 
 3.9 
 
 2.5 
 
 2.6 
 
 2.2 
 
 1.9 
 
 E 
 
 2.7 
 
 4.7 
 
 4.6 
 
 7.3 
 
 7.8 
 
 4.8 
 
 6.7 
 
 4.8 
 
 5.7 
 
 2.4 
 
 Av. 
 
 2.6 
 
 4.7 
 
 5.4 
 
 5.7 
 
 6.4 
 
 5.0 
 
 5.7 
 
 5.4 
 
 4.4 
 
 1.8 
 
 Ten 
 
 subjects 
 
 8.7 
 
 8.3 
 
 11.6 
 
 10.5 
 
 12.2 
 
 12.9 
 
 10 
 
 10.8 
 
 11.8 
 
 8.5
 
 FREDERIC LYiNIAN W^LLS 525 
 
 In examining the portion of this table dealing 
 with the repeated arrangements we find, as we 
 should anticipate, that the m. v. increases toward 
 the middle positions and decreases toward the 
 ends. The amount of this increase varies cousider- 
 ably, and constitutes a not uninteresting point of 
 individual difference. In subject A the middle 
 m. v.'s are nearly three times those at the start; 
 in D they are barely half again as much. Indi- 
 vidual difference in reliability of judgment seems 
 therefore to be greater in the middle than at the 
 ends. This is what we should expect, for the 
 judgments are more difficult in the middle, and we 
 naturally vary more from each other in our judg- 
 ment of difiicult things than in our judgment of 
 easy ones. Another point of significance is that 
 the m. v.'s are always less at the disliked than at 
 the preferred end, although there is no intrinsic 
 reason why they should be better grounded in 
 memory. This might be in part due to a generally 
 unsesthetic series of cards, but it is perhaps gen- 
 erally true that we are surer of our antipathies than 
 of our preferences. 
 
 In the m. v.'s of the ten subjects the most strik- 
 ing appearance beyond their greater size is that 
 the increase in the middle and the decrease at the 
 ends is not nearly so well marked as in the repeated 
 arrangements. This is precisely the condition 
 that the memory factor in the repeated arrange- 
 ments would give, but under Table IV will be cited
 
 526 VARIABILITY OF JUDGMENTS 
 
 reasons against its being due to this cause. It is 
 also to be noted that here the m. v.'s of the dis- 
 Hked end are not smaller than those of the pre- 
 ferred, though the difference is insignificant. 
 
 The m. v.'s of the repeated arrangements of 
 subjects A-E are shown according to series in 
 Table IV a. 
 
 TABLE IV a 
 
 Comparative Variability of the Individual Series 
 
 Subject 
 
 Series 
 
 Av. 
 
 I 
 
 II 
 
 III 
 
 IV 
 
 V 
 
 A 
 
 4.95 
 
 3.04 
 
 3.08 
 
 2.98 
 
 3.08 
 
 3.43 
 
 B 
 
 6.82 
 
 6.06 
 
 4.82 
 
 6.30 
 
 7.54 
 
 6.21 
 
 C 
 
 6.64 
 
 4.84 
 
 5.00 
 
 6.88 
 
 4.72 
 
 5.61 
 
 D 
 
 3.88 
 
 3.26 
 
 2.58 
 
 2.76 
 
 2.80 
 
 3.06 
 
 E 
 
 6.72 
 
 4.78 
 
 5.06 
 
 4.48 
 
 4.62 
 
 5.13 
 
 Thus under I-A we find 4.95, which is the aver- 
 age variation of the judgments made in A's first 
 arrangement from the average of the five arrange- 
 ments made by him; 3.04 is the variation of his 
 second arrangement, etc. Through this table we 
 can determine what arrangement, if any, tends to 
 be the most accurate. In subject A the fourth is 
 the most accurate (av. m. v. 2.98), in subject B 
 the third, C the fifth, D the third, E the fourth. 
 Now assuming any considerable operation of the 
 memory factor in these experiments, one of two
 
 FREDERIC LY:MAN WELLS 527 
 
 things should result. Either the first judgment 
 should set the standard from which the successive 
 arrangements would vary more or less, or, as the 
 memory of previous judgment accumulates, each 
 successive judgment would become more and more 
 the sum of the preceding arrangements, and the 
 m. V. would progressively decrease. The latter 
 event seems to the ^\Tite^ the more likely, but 
 neither is recorded in the figures, save in so far as 
 the first judgment tends to be a relatively inaccu- 
 rate one. It is difficult to see in what way the 
 relative accuracy of the successive judgments is 
 distributed differently from what it might be if the 
 successive arrangements had been made by differ- 
 ent individuals. They seem to be quite as inde- 
 pendent of one another. 
 
 Whatever the effect of the memory factor upon 
 the successive series of judgments, those at the 
 ends should be most susceptible to it, those in 
 the middle least. The proper procedure is, then, 
 to examine the variability in the succeeding series 
 according to the position of the cards, and to note 
 if there is any difference in the varia])ility of the 
 successive series according as the positions are 
 high, intermediate, or low. Taljle IV b gives for 
 each subject the varia!)ility of the first five, the 
 middle five, and the last five positions, in each of 
 the successive series. No significant difi'erence 
 appears in the relative size of the variabilities of 
 the middle and end cards, according as the sue-
 
 528 VARIABILITY OF JUDGMENTS 
 
 TABLE IV 6 
 
 Position 1-5 
 
 
 I 
 
 II 
 
 III 
 
 IV 
 
 V 
 
 A 
 
 1.8 
 
 1.0 
 
 2.2 
 
 1.0 
 
 2.4 
 
 B 
 
 3.4 
 
 3.4 
 
 3.6 
 
 5.2 
 
 3.6 
 
 C 
 
 2.2 
 
 1.8 
 
 1.2 
 
 2.8 
 
 2.6 
 
 D 
 
 5.0 
 
 2.0 
 
 2.4 
 
 2.0 
 
 2.0 
 
 E 
 
 2.4 
 
 1.4 
 
 3.2 
 
 4.2 
 
 2.4 
 
 Av. 
 
 3.0 
 
 1.9 
 
 2.7 
 
 3.1 
 
 2.6 
 
 Position 23-27 
 
 A 
 
 7.8 
 
 4.8 
 
 6.8 
 
 3.6 
 
 4.2 
 
 B 
 
 8.8 
 
 11.6 
 
 6.2 
 
 4.0 
 
 6.8 
 
 C 
 
 8.8 
 
 4.6 
 
 7.4 
 
 7.4 
 
 4.6 
 
 D 
 
 4.4 
 
 4.0 
 
 4.0 
 
 5.4 
 
 5.2 
 
 E 
 
 11.0 
 
 5.2 
 
 6.6 
 
 6.4 
 
 10.6 
 
 Av. 
 
 8.2 
 
 6.0 
 
 6.2 
 
 5.4 
 
 6.3 
 
 Position 46-50 
 
 A 
 
 1.4 
 
 0.8 
 
 1.6 
 
 0.6 
 
 0.8 
 
 B 
 
 2.2 
 
 1.4 
 
 1.4 
 
 1.8 
 
 1.6 
 
 C 
 
 1.0 
 
 1.6 
 
 1.6 
 
 0.6 
 
 1.6 
 
 D 
 
 2.8 
 
 2.4 
 
 1.6 
 
 1.0 
 
 2.2 ' 
 
 E 
 
 2.4 
 
 5.0 
 
 1.8 
 
 0.8 
 
 2.0 
 
 Av. 
 
 2.0 
 
 1.3 
 
 1.6 
 
 1.0 
 
 1.6
 
 FREDERIC LYMAN WELLS 529 
 
 cessive series are reached. If memory has oper- 
 ated at all, it must have operated in positions 1-5 
 and 4G-50; from positions 23-27 it is practically 
 excluded. As there is nothing save consistent 
 differences in size to distinguish them, it seems 
 justifiable to infer that memory has in no way 
 made the end judgments less independent than 
 the middle ones. For this reason also, some other 
 explanation must be assigned to the fact that the 
 m. v.'s of the middle and end positions in the 
 repeated arrangements are more different than 
 those of the analogous positions in the individual 
 arrangements by the ten subjects. 
 
 In the last column of Table IV a are given the 
 averages of the m. v.'s of each series, the total 
 variability of the five successive series for each sub- 
 ject. There is here a difference of about 2:1, B 
 varying the most from his own judgments with 
 6.21, D the least with 3.06. The average of all the 
 variabilities is 4.7. Following are the variations of 
 each of the ten subjects from their average: 
 
 TABLE V 
 
 A B C D E F G n I J Av. 
 
 9.34 10.94 12.98 8.68 11.54 10.54 12.46 9.32 9.12 9.34 10.48 
 
 A somewhat significant comparison is afforded 
 between the variabihty of subjects A-E from the 
 average of the ten, and their variation from their 
 own judgments as given in Table IV a. Those 
 who vary least from their own judgments also 
 
 34
 
 530 VARIABILITY OF JUDGMENTS 
 
 vary least from the judgments of others. Thus 
 D, whose preferences are the most consistent with 
 her own, also agrees best with the judgment of 
 others. A is next in both (among subjects A-E), 
 and the entire orders agree with 20 per cent of dis- 
 placement. The observations are too few to do 
 more than suggest a general principle, but their 
 interpretation is a rather interesting one. The 
 critic who best knows his own mind would seem 
 the best criterion of the judgments of others. I 
 have elsewhere argued, mainly on theoretical 
 grounds, against the validity of accepting the ac- 
 cordance of a judgment as indicative of its accu- 
 racy, but figures like the above are an empirical 
 demonstration in its favor. This matter will be 
 recurred to towards the close of this paper. 
 
 With respect to such judgments as those with 
 which we are dealing, the variability of different 
 individuals is seen to be more than twice as great 
 as the variability of different judgments by the 
 same individual. Each individual's judgments 
 form a distinct species of their own, and the opin- 
 ions expressed are thus in a high degree personal 
 and subjective. 
 
 Brief attention may be called to the character 
 of the individual variations themselves. The dis- 
 tribution of the m. v.'s for the averages of the ten 
 subjects has already been given. For the five con- 
 secutive judgments of subjects A-E, the m. v.'s 
 are distributed as follows:
 
 FREDERIC LYMAN WIELLS 
 
 531 
 
 TABLE \l 
 
 DlBTRIBtrnON OF THE Me.*J^ VARIATIONS OF EACH SUBJECT 
 
 Sub- 
 ject 
 
 Vari- 
 ation 
 
 1 
 0!5 
 
 _!_ 
 
 1 
 
 IJ 2 
 
 2.5 
 
 2 
 
 1 
 1 
 9 
 
 3 3.5 
 
 5 6 
 
 *'< 1 
 
 6 1 
 S't 3 
 
 6 5 
 
 1 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 5 
 3 
 3 
 4 
 
 4.5 
 
 5 
 
 5.5 
 
 1 
 3 
 
 2 
 2 
 R 
 
 6 
 4 
 
 2 
 
 1 
 
 6.5 
 2 
 
 3' 
 
 7 
 2 
 
 7 5 8 
 
 1 
 
 3 3 
 
 ..4 
 
 8.5 
 
 1 
 
 4 
 3 
 
 9 9.8 10 
 
 ' 1 
 
 10.5 U US 
 
 ! 
 
 12 
 
 12.3 
 
 B 
 
 D 
 E 
 
 " 
 
 ..1. . 3 
 
 \ 
 1|2 2 
 
 1 i 
 ..'■i\3 
 
 1 1 
 1 1 J 
 
 2 .. 
 ..4 
 6 7 
 . . .1 
 
 1 
 3 
 3 
 5 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 3 
 
 4; 2'2 
 
 1 
 
 11 5;2 
 
 .... 
 
 . . 1 
 1 .. 
 
 
 2 
 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 2 3 
 
 1 
 
 1 . . . . 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 There is a sugfijestion of specie.s in the distribu- 
 tions for subjects B and C, as though there were a 
 type of card in which the judgments were hkely 
 to vary more than in others. The remainder do 
 not show this characteristic. The largest single 
 mean variation is 12.8, made by subject E on card 
 62G4, which stands 31st in this subject's series. 
 The zero cases are from first and last places, with 
 one exception presumably remembered from time 
 to time. 
 
 Following are the distributions of the individual 
 variations in the successive judgments. They are 
 
 TABLE MI 
 
 Distribution of the Single Variations 
 
 Vari- 
 ation 
 
 Oil 
 
 ! i 
 
 2314,5 
 
 t I 
 
 Nocaecg 28 56 43 30 23 20 
 
 113 32 27 20 18 23 
 
 6 I 7 , 8 ' 9 10 11 IJ 13 14 15 16 17 is' 19 20 21 •>2 23 24 25 26 27 28 
 
 19; 5 9 1'. .12'. .1. .1 1| 1 1 
 15 •2-2 14 12 12 9 ; 5 7 ! 3 5 4 13 
 14 2« 3.W6 1826'n 12 10 15 10 7:8!6'5 4 3 13 
 26 47 47 36'23'l8 21 12 b 3 2 1 '. . . .'. .|. .' . . 
 31 31 22 27 30 16 23,18 10 10 4 6 : 4 ' 3 ; 2 4 2 j J 1 
 
 I 1 I I I I I I 1 i ! I I : 
 
 2 1,2 ii2 .. ..Kj. :.. 
 ,. , i M I I I 
 
 1 1 .^^ .' '..'. .'. .!. 
 
 ordinary skew distributions with no striking fea- 
 tures. The variability of the single judgment seems
 
 532 VARIABILITY OF JUDGMENTS 
 
 to be distributed practically according to chance, 
 limited, of course, at the small end. 
 
 In a previous study ^ attention was called to the 
 fact that in many consecutive orders the difference 
 in position as indicated by the average did not 
 bear a very strict relation to the reliability of the 
 judgments as given in the probable error. Small 
 differences might exist side by side with small 
 p. e.'s, and large differences with large p. e.'s. On 
 account of the lack of material for empirical analy- 
 sis the question was merely indicated, but an 
 examination of the longer ranges obtained in the 
 present experiment indicates that the difference 
 between any two consecutive positions is not given 
 in the averages and p. e.'s or even in the entire 
 distributions, but that some refinement of the 
 treatment is necessary.^ 
 
 * "A Statistical Study of Literary Merit," Archives of Psychology, No. 7, 
 pp. 17-19. 
 
 ^ The actual relationships between the probable error and the average 
 difference in consecutive positions have been calculated by the Pearson and 
 Woodworth methods. The relationships are naturally negative, though not 
 so much so as they might be, the figures being as follows : 
 
 TABLE VIII 
 Relationship op P. E. and A. D. P. 
 
 Subject 
 
 W 
 
 P 
 
 A 
 
 57 
 
 -15 
 
 B 
 
 51 
 
 -30 
 
 C 
 
 75 
 
 -60 
 
 D 
 
 53 
 
 -33 
 
 E 
 
 64 
 
 -41 
 
 (Note that under W a figure above 50 indicates negative correlation.)
 
 FREDERIC LYMAN WELLS 
 
 533 
 
 Let us consider more in detail the followinir 
 portion of our results, positions '■21-^25 in the records 
 of subject E. The grades here assif^ned to the 
 cards in 21st-!25th positions with their averages 
 and m. v.'s are as follows: 
 
 TABLE IX 
 
 21 
 
 30 
 
 19 
 
 25 
 
 14 
 
 20 
 
 21.6 
 
 4.8 
 
 22 
 
 33 
 
 14 
 
 18 
 
 30 
 
 Ij 
 
 22.0 
 
 7.6 
 
 23 
 
 13 
 
 17 
 
 42 
 
 8 
 
 3S 
 
 23.6 
 
 12.8 
 
 2J, 
 
 9 
 
 29 
 
 24 
 
 2o 
 
 40 
 
 20.4 
 
 7.2 
 
 25 
 
 28 
 
 21 
 
 16 
 
 39 
 
 30 
 
 26.8 
 
 6.6 
 
 The weakness of the unsupported average and 
 probable error as measures of the difference be- 
 tween two consecutive objects lies in the fact that 
 thev take no account of the coincidence of the 
 grades which form them, and which ought to be 
 a most important factor in the situation. Suppose, 
 for example, we wish to determine E's attitude 
 toward the cards whose avertiges place them 22d 
 and 23d on the list. Out of the five judgments 
 we see that in three cases, in two of a considerable 
 margin, 22 was preferred over 21, and only the 
 extreme fourth case gives it a shghtly lower })lace. 
 So much is not fully indicated in the m. v. The 
 point is perhaps l)etter illustrated in positions 2-4 
 and 25. In series I and IV there is extreme prefer- 
 ence, outside the limits of the m. v.'s for 24 over 
 25, and the remainders show an almost ecjually
 
 534 VARIABILITY OF JUDGMENTS 
 
 certain preference for the lower over the higher. 
 The two cards need not really be close together at 
 all; only now is one markedly preferred, now 
 another. We can get a very different situation 
 without altering average or m. v. in the slightest, 
 Suppose the coincidence of these grades had been 
 
 24 
 
 25 
 
 9 
 
 29 
 
 24 
 
 25 
 
 40 
 
 16 
 
 30 
 
 21 
 
 28 
 
 39 
 
 We could then, perhaps, say with more confidence 
 that 24 was preferred over 25. At any rate, the 
 two results would have very different meanings, 
 no difference appearing in the average or p. e., 
 which are necessarily the same throughout. 
 
 In two consecutive positions from a series with 
 much smaller probable errors the actual coinci- 
 dence of the grades was as follows: 
 
 Av. M. V. 
 
 A...8559622152 31 46274457 4.5 1.7 
 B... 7342367445 10 5 10 5563671 5.1 1.2 
 
 There is .6 place difference in position and the 
 p. e.'s of the averages do not overlap ; yet in half 
 the cases the lower position receives a higher grade 
 than the higher. The grades cannot be rearranged 
 so that this happens in more than twelve cases, 
 they can be rearranged so that it happens in only 
 three. The average and p. e. give no hint as to 
 the nature of the coincidences, and their meaning 
 is perhaps sufficient to warrant some special 
 figure to express it.
 
 FREDERIC LYINIAN AVELLS 535 
 
 Experiments on Color Vision 
 
 The apparatus used in these experiments^ con- 
 sisted of a series of 28 cards upon which were fixed, 
 side by side, two silk skeins of differing colors. 
 The colors were numbered 2, 4, G, 8, etc., and the 
 first card, known as 2-4, bore colors 2 and 4, 
 the next 4 and C, and so on up to 54-5G, when the 
 next bore 56 and then again the first color, 2. The 
 colors thus ran through a complete circle, starting 
 at the reds, and running through the yellows, 
 greens, and purples back again to the reds. It 
 was not attempted to have the series consist of 
 saturated colors. The steps between the colors 
 composing the pairs are not equal for sensation, 
 and the original object of the experiment was to 
 determine whether measurement by relative posi- 
 tion would afford a means for stating the differ- 
 ences between the steps in a workable statistical 
 form. Certain of the results arc, however, ger- 
 mane to the present subject. The procedure was 
 to have the subject arrange the pairs in order of 
 the degree of their differences, the pair which 
 differed least being counted 1, the next nearest as 
 2, the most dissimilar pair receiving a grade of 28. 
 Arrangements were obtained from ten subjects, 
 the order, positions, and mean variations being 
 as follows : 
 
 ' This material was l)oing employed in a study of the quantitative meas- 
 urement of color [KTception hy Miss Mildred Fo<-ht of Columbia L iiivcrsity, 
 who kindly loaned it to me for the purjwse of these exi)erimcnta.
 
 536 VARIABILITY OF JUDGMENTS 
 
 TABLE X 
 
 1 
 
 26-28 
 
 2.6 
 
 1.6 
 
 2 
 
 44-46 
 
 3.3 
 
 2.3 
 
 3 
 
 40-42 
 
 4.8 
 
 3.4 
 
 4 
 
 56-2 
 
 5.0 
 
 0.9 
 
 5 
 
 10-12 
 
 5.9 
 
 2.7 
 
 6 
 
 52-54 
 
 7.0 
 
 2.2 
 
 7 
 
 16-18 
 
 7.0 
 
 3.6 
 
 8 
 
 22-24 
 
 7.5 
 
 1.9 
 
 9 
 
 54-56 
 
 9.0 
 
 2.0 
 
 10 
 
 36-38 
 
 11.7 
 
 2.3 
 
 11 
 
 20-22 
 
 11.8 
 
 3.0 
 
 12 
 
 28-30 
 
 11.8 
 
 5.5 
 
 13 
 
 46-48 
 
 12.1 
 
 2.3 
 
 14 
 
 4-6 
 
 13.5 
 
 2.5 
 
 15 
 
 50-52 
 
 16.0 
 
 3.8 
 
 16 
 
 38-40 
 
 16.2 
 
 3.8 
 
 17 
 
 48-50 
 
 17.0 
 
 2.2 
 
 18 
 
 18-20 
 
 17.4 
 
 4.6 
 
 19 
 
 8-10 
 
 17.7 
 
 2.9 
 
 20 
 
 30-32 
 
 19.1 
 
 3.7 
 
 21 
 
 34-36 
 
 19.5 
 
 3.5 
 
 22 
 
 i-i 
 
 21.7 
 
 2.3 
 
 23 
 
 32-34 
 
 23.0 
 
 2.6 
 
 24 
 
 12-14 
 
 23.1 
 
 1.1 
 
 25 
 
 6-8 
 
 24.6 
 
 1.6 
 
 26 
 
 42-44 
 
 25.2 
 
 0.4 
 
 27 
 
 14-16 
 
 26.6 
 
 0.6 
 
 28 
 
 24-26 
 
 27.9 
 
 0.1
 
 FREDERIC LYMAN WELLS 
 
 537 
 
 Color vision being something more objective 
 than preference for souvenir postal cards, we find 
 that the variabihty of the judgments is much 
 smaller, the average m. v. of ten individuals for 50 
 postal cards being 10.8, and for estimations of the 
 color differences but 2.4. The individual varia- 
 tions of each subject are distributed as follows: 
 
 TABLE XI 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Variation 
 
 
 Subject 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 C 
 
 ■ 
 
 8 
 
 9 
 
 10 
 
 11 
 
 12 
 
 13 
 
 14 
 
 A 
 
 3 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
 7 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 
 
 B 
 
 6 
 
 8 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 C 
 
 6 
 
 6 
 
 9 
 
 2 
 
 
 o 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 •• 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 D 
 
 4 
 
 6 
 
 2 
 
 4 
 
 3 
 
 3 
 
 2 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 E 
 
 4 
 
 7 
 
 5 
 
 7 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 F 
 
 5 
 
 10 
 
 5 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 G 
 
 8 
 
 8 
 
 4 
 
 2i 4 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 II 
 
 5 
 
 G 
 
 6 
 
 2 
 
 ' 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 5 
 
 7 
 
 6 
 
 "r- 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 J 
 
 4 
 
 6 
 
 8 
 
 'l ' 
 
 
 
 1 ; 1 
 
 o 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 ' 
 
 1 
 
 
 Total 
 
 5Q 
 
 G9 
 
 55 
 
 1 
 3G 23 
 
 14 
 
 9 G 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 4 
 
 
 1 
 
 , 
 
 
 There are six cases, two for A, one for C, and 
 three for J, in which a })air is placed in a {)osition 
 differing from the average by more than three 
 times the in. v. If such cases as these are not due
 
 538 VARIABILITY OF JUDGMENTS 
 
 to chance, they demonstrate individual differences 
 in color vision similar to those obtained in Hen- 
 mon's experiments/ To make a rough determina- 
 tion of how far they might be due to chance, seven 
 of the subjects arranged the series once more. 
 These included subjects C and J, but it was unfor- 
 tunately impossible to obtain another record from A. 
 All of the divergences appear explicable as a result 
 of chance. However, in calculating the m. v.'s of 
 each subject in the two successive arrangements, 
 the m. v.'s of each subject from his own judgment 
 were considerably smaller than the mean of his 
 variations from other subjects, the figures being 
 as follows : 
 
 
 TABLE 
 
 XII 
 
 
 
 
 
 Subject 
 
 C D 
 
 E 
 
 G 
 
 H 
 
 I 
 
 J 
 
 Av. var. 2 succ. j. . 
 
 0.89 1.8 
 
 1.7 
 
 0.98 
 
 1.5 
 
 1.3 
 
 1.8 
 
 Av. var. j. 6 oth. ind. 
 
 2.3 3.3 
 
 2.3 
 
 1.7 
 
 2.4 
 
 2.3 
 
 3.2 
 
 There is still evidence of separate species in the 
 judgments of each subject. The peculiar corre- 
 spondence above noted between the amount of 
 variation from one's own judgment and from the 
 judgment of others appears here as in the postal 
 cards. Between the two orders of Table XII there 
 is 14 per cent of displacement; the more constant 
 judges are the more accurate. As the objectivity 
 of the experimental material increases, we should 
 expect this correspondence to be closer. 
 
 * " The Time of Perception as a Measure of Differences in Sensation," 
 
 Archives of Phil., Psych., and Sci. Methods, No. 8, 1906.
 
 FREDERIC LYIVIAN WELLS 539 
 
 Experiments with Weights 
 
 It seemed best, for comparative purposes, to 
 supplement the foreo;oing olxservations with a 
 series of experiments in which the actual differ- 
 ences should be capable of determination by 
 strictly objective methods. Wei<^hts are prob- 
 ably the most suitable material for this purpose. 
 The apparatus consisted of six weio;hts, 51, 53, 55, 
 57, 59, Gl o;rams, respectively.^ The weights were 
 made of dead black pasteboard boxes, ly^ x 3 J- x 
 2y^6 in., filled with lead and cotton to the recjuired 
 heaviness, and sealed. In the experiments the 
 long axis of the weight was always toward the 
 subject. The observations include 100 arrange- 
 ments of the weights by one subject, and 10 
 arrangements by each of ten subjects. Of the sub- 
 jects, G-J were normal individuals, the remainder 
 being male patients in the hospital. Subject A is 
 a man of 05, whose mental defect is a mixed para- 
 phasia and object blindness. At the time of the 
 experiments he could read and could name letters 
 almost normally, but could not name objects, 
 though they were recognized. ]Memory was much 
 impaired. lie co-operated conscientiously. B, 
 a^t, 52, is an early stage of general paresis, mildly 
 euphoric. lie co-operated willingly, but went at 
 the test in a quick hit or miss fashion. C, set. 72, 
 
 ' The exact weights as measured on the scales of the physiolofrical labora- 
 torj- showed a practically constant excess of .4 gr. for each weight.
 
 540 VARIABILITY OF JUDGMENTS 
 
 is a convalescent from a third attack of depres- 
 sion. Co-operated willingly, but showed a con- 
 stant error in the shape of a tendency to leave the 
 weights in the random order in which they were 
 placed before him. D, set. 64, manic-depressive, 
 one previous attack of depression, at present 
 mildly exhilarated. Co-operated willingly and 
 conscientiously, but made frequent pauses be- 
 tween the arrangements on account of " fatigue.'* 
 E, 8dt. 38, first attack of manic-depression, mixed 
 phase, mildly exhilarated at time of experiment. 
 Showed same tendency as C in leaving weights as 
 at first placed. F, set. 32, practical recovery from 
 fourth attack of depression. Interested in experi- 
 ment, and co-operated best of any of the patients, 
 also doing the test exceptionally well. One other 
 subject, a depression, actively lost interest after 
 four trials, and failed to co-operate further. Each 
 patient was held to a fixed system of procedure, 
 analogous to that adopted by normal subjects. 
 Only F would move the weights of his own accord, 
 the others merely gave their judgments. The 
 detail of their results qua from abnormal subjects 
 I hope to discuss at some future time in connection 
 with other observations. The data from the nor- 
 mal and abnormal subjects are quoted separately. 
 As will be seen, two of the patients do normally, 
 one exceptionally, well, while the remaining three 
 do rather poorly. On the whole, there is nothing 
 in the results to indicate a distinct species of per-
 
 FREDERIC LYMAN WELLS 
 
 541 
 
 formance in the abnormal subject as a class. The 
 general averao;e is probably as valid for present 
 })urposes as one from ten normal subjects. 
 
 The foUowinn^ tables g^ive the results of 100 
 arrangements by the single subject: 
 
 
 
 
 
 TABLE 
 
 XIII 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 AvERAGEa 
 
 Av. 
 
 M.V. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 Series 
 
 I 
 
 II 
 
 III 
 
 IV V 
 
 VI 
 
 VII vm IX 
 
 X 
 
 
 
 61 
 
 1.3 
 
 1.2 
 
 1.8 
 
 i 
 1.5 , 1.4 
 
 1.0 
 
 1.2 
 
 1.3 
 
 2.0 
 
 1.1 
 
 1.4 
 
 .24 
 
 59 
 
 2.3 
 
 2.G 
 
 2.7 
 
 2.1 ! 2.6 
 
 2.5 
 
 1.9 
 
 1.9 
 
 1.5 
 
 2.0 
 
 2.2 
 
 .32 
 
 57 
 
 3.4 
 
 3.3 
 
 2.9 
 
 2.7 
 
 2.4 
 
 2.8 
 
 3.0 
 
 2.9 
 
 3.2 
 
 3.1 
 
 3.0 
 
 .23 
 
 55 
 
 3.7 
 
 3.8 
 
 4.3 
 
 5.0 
 
 4.8 
 
 4.3 
 
 5.2 
 
 4.7 
 
 4.8 
 
 4.8 
 
 4.6 
 
 .40 
 
 53 
 
 5.5 
 
 5.4 
 
 4.1 
 
 4.5 
 
 4.8 
 
 5.1 
 
 4.1 
 
 5.0 
 
 4.5 
 
 4.6 
 
 4.8 
 
 .40 
 
 51 
 
 4.8 
 
 4.9 
 
 5.2 
 
 5.2 ' 5.0 
 
 5.3 
 
 
 5.6 
 1 
 
 5.2 
 
 
 5.1 
 
 2 
 
 5.5 
 1 
 
 5.2 
 0.9 
 
 .28 
 .29 
 
 Displace- ) 
 ments of > 
 avera}^e ) 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 1 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Averapeof ) 
 dis{)lace- / 
 merits ) 
 
 2.5 
 
 2.8 
 
 3.6 
 
 2 5 2.6 
 
 1.7 
 
 1.6 
 
 1.7 
 
 2.9 
 
 1.4 
 
 2.3 
 
 1 
 
 Each column contains the average of a series of 
 ten single arrangements. It will be noted that in 
 only two cases out of the ten does the average order 
 correspond with the objective one. Although the 
 general average of the hundred arrangements gives 
 the objective order, yet the displacements in the 
 single series are hardly distributed according to 
 chance. The fifth weight, 5'5, stands fifth with a 
 position of 48 in the general average, but in five
 
 542 VARIABILITY OF JUDGMENTS 
 
 series it stood above 55, in two below 51, and in 
 only two cases did it stand in its proper position, 
 thus accounting for seven out of the nine displace- 
 ments of the averages of the series. In four of the 
 seven cases, namely in series I, II, IV, and VII, 
 the negative difference hes outside the limits of the 
 probable error. VII is particularly striking on 
 account of its high reliabihty throughout. 
 
 As the average should theoretically give the 
 correct order no matter how poor the individual's 
 judgment, the average of the displacements of 
 each individual arrangement from the objective 
 order is a better measure of difference between the 
 accuracy of the successive series. The m. v. of 
 the average order should also afford a measure 
 of discriminativeness. According to both these 
 measures the successive series show considerable 
 practice, the average of the second five being a 
 little over two-thirds that of the first five. The 
 drop is unusually sudden. It may be observed 
 that the displacement of the average and the aver- 
 age of displacements for the individual series are 
 only moderately correlated. The average of dis- 
 placements and the size of the m. v. are correlated 
 within five displacements of their respective or- 
 ders, or 11 per cent. We are here afforded an 
 opportunity for examining empirically the accord- 
 ance of an individual series with the average as a 
 measure of the relative reliability of the successive 
 series. As the average orders in the individual
 
 FREDERIC LYMAN WELLS 
 
 543 
 
 series depart from the objective order, the method 
 does not show up well. Between the accordance 
 of each series of ten arrangements to their average, 
 and the average of their displacements from the 
 objective order, there are 20 displacements, 44 
 per cent; between the accordance of each series 
 to their average, and the size of the m. v. in each 
 series, there are 17 displacements, 38 per cent.^ 
 The mean variations of each series of ten arranfje- 
 ments from their averages (/. e., the m. v/s of the 
 averages in the preceding table), are given below. 
 
 TABLE XIV 
 
 ME-VN V.\RIAT10X3 
 
 Av. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Series 
 
 I 
 
 11 
 
 III , IV V VI 
 
 VII 
 
 VIII 
 
 IX 
 
 X 
 
 
 61 
 
 .58 
 
 .32 
 
 .96 
 
 .70 .64 .00 
 
 .32 
 
 .48 
 
 .60 
 
 .18 
 
 .48 
 
 59 
 
 .66 
 
 .92 
 
 1.10 
 
 .36 .92 .50 
 
 .36 
 
 .36 
 
 .60 
 
 .20 
 
 .60 
 
 57 
 
 1.18 
 
 .8-1 
 
 1.01 
 
 .82 
 
 .60 .80 
 
 .20 
 
 48 
 
 .98 
 
 .36 
 
 .73 
 
 55 
 
 .96 
 
 1.40 
 
 .82 
 
 .60 
 
 .80 ; .56 
 
 .48 
 
 .76 
 
 1.08 
 
 .79 
 
 .66 
 
 53 
 
 .60 
 
 .84 
 
 1.32 
 
 .80 
 
 .72 .76 
 
 .40 
 
 .60 
 
 .60 
 
 .80 
 
 .74 
 
 51 
 
 1.00 
 
 .74 
 
 .80 
 
 .80 
 
 .80 .66 
 
 .48 
 
 .80 
 
 .90 
 
 .60 
 
 .76 
 
 .\v. m. V. 
 
 .83 
 
 .84 
 
 1.00 
 
 .68 
 
 .75 .55 
 
 .38 
 
 .58 
 
 .79 
 
 .49 
 
 .69 
 
 The average of the m. v.'s is naturally .some- 
 
 ' This is in jiart due to tlie fact that the ]HX>r jud^Mueiits tlraw the end 
 weights toward the middle while the j,'(K)(1 judgment.* ktfpthein at the ends, 
 thus ^'ettiii^ a hi<;h variability for the extremes; if wc tiike only the two 
 middle weij^hts, 57 and 55, we have from the averajjje of displacements 17 dis- 
 piaceuicuts, or 38 jxt ct:nt, instead of H {kt cent.
 
 544 VARIABILITY OF JUDGMENTS 
 
 what larger than the m. v. of the averages, as 
 given in Table XIII. It will be noted that the psy- 
 chophysical relationship plays little part in these 
 results; the difference between 51 and 53 should 
 be greater than that between 59 and 61, but so far 
 as can be judged from the results, 61 is more easily 
 distinguished from 59 than 53 from 51. This is 
 surprising, as the one hundred arrangements ought 
 to be sufficient to bring out such a difference. The 
 m. v.'s of the averages, as given in Table XIII, are 
 smallest at the ends, as they arithmetically should 
 be ; but the averages of the m. v.'s, in Table XIV, 
 seem to increase as the weights become smaller. 
 
 We may now compare the variation of the single 
 subject through ten successive series, with the 
 variation of ten different subjects through a single 
 series of ten arrangements each. The results of 
 these experiments are summarized in Tables XV 
 and XVI. 
 
 The figures present the same general character- 
 istics as those in Tables XIII and XIV. The 
 single subject has varied from his own judgments 
 a little less than the ten subjects among themselves, 
 but this is in part due to practice, which brings 
 down the m. v. If we take the m. v. of the first 
 five series in which practice is not evident to any 
 marked degree, and compare this with the varia- 
 tion of the four normal subjects, we see that the 
 single subject has varied from himself rather more 
 than the four normal subjects among themselves.
 
 FREDERIC LYJVIAN WELLS 
 
 545 
 
 TABLE XV 
 
 Ayebaqu 
 
 At. 
 
 1.6 
 2.5 
 3.1 
 4 1 
 4.5 
 6.2 
 
 0.9 
 
 M.V. 
 
 At. 
 
 6 
 
 path. 
 
 At. 
 
 4 
 nor- 
 mal 
 
 Subject 
 
 wt. 
 61 
 
 59 
 
 57 
 
 55 
 
 63 
 
 51 
 
 A 
 
 1.4 
 •2.8 
 2.8 
 4.1 
 4.3 
 5.6 
 
 B 
 
 1.7 
 2.8 
 3.7 
 4.1 
 3.8 
 4.9 
 
 1 
 4.1 
 
 C 
 
 
 
 1.7 
 4.0 
 4.0 
 3.4 
 2.8 
 4.9 
 
 4 
 
 4.9 
 
 D 
 
 1.6 
 2.1 
 3.0 
 4,3 
 6.1 
 50 
 
 1 
 
 E 
 
 2.4 
 
 2.7 
 2.6 
 4.3 
 4.3 
 
 4.8 
 
 1 
 4.7 
 
 F 
 
 1.5 
 
 2.3 
 2.6 
 4.2 
 4.9 
 
 6.6 
 
 
 
 
 1.8 
 
 a 
 
 1.3 
 2.3 
 3.4 
 3.7 
 5.5 
 4.8 
 
 1 
 2.5 
 
 H 
 
 1.8 
 26 
 3.0 
 4.4 
 
 6.0 
 6.2 
 
 
 2.3 
 
 I 
 
 1.1 
 
 1.9 
 3.0 
 4.1 
 
 6.0 
 
 6.8 
 
 
 
 J 
 
 1.4 
 2.0 
 3.1 
 4.6 
 4.3 
 6.0 
 
 1 
 
 0.26 
 0.43 
 0.32 
 0.24 
 0.60 
 0.32 
 
 1.7 
 
 2.6 
 3.1 
 4.0 
 4.2 
 6.2 
 
 1.4 
 
 2.2 
 3.1 
 4.2 
 4.8 
 5.2 
 
 Displace- 
 ment of 
 arerages 
 
 
 
 
 
 Av. of 
 displace- 
 ments 
 
 2.4 
 
 0.7 
 
 2.7 
 
 2.9 
 
 
 3.4 
 
 2.1 
 
 TABLE XVI 
 
 Hban Vamatioks 
 
 At. 
 
 At. 
 
 6 
 
 path. 
 
 At. 
 4 
 
 nor- 
 mal 
 
 Subject. 
 
 A 
 
 B 
 
 C 
 
 D 
 
 E 
 
 r 
 
 G 
 
 H 
 
 I 
 
 J 
 
 wt. 
 61 
 
 0.48 
 
 0.58 
 
 0.60 
 
 0.60 
 
 0.84 
 
 0.50 
 
 0.58 
 
 0.68 
 
 0.09 
 
 0.56 
 
 0.56 
 
 0.60 
 
 0.48 
 
 59 
 
 0.88 
 
 1.20 
 
 1.40 
 
 0.74 
 
 1.31 
 
 0.82 
 
 0,66 
 
 0.60 
 
 0.09 0.60 
 
 0.83 
 
 1.06 
 
 0.49 
 
 67 
 
 1.20 
 
 1.36 
 
 1.00 
 
 0.70 
 
 1.50 
 
 0.86 
 
 1.18 
 
 0.80 
 
 0.20 
 
 1.16 
 
 1.00 
 
 1.10 
 
 0.84 
 
 56 
 
 0.74 
 
 1.51 
 
 1.40 
 
 1.09 
 
 1.10 
 
 0.48 
 
 0.96 
 
 0.88 
 
 0.46 
 
 1.08 
 
 0.97 
 
 1.06 
 
 0.84 
 
 53 
 
 0.73 
 
 1.04 
 
 1.24 
 
 0.54 
 
 1.27 
 
 0.92 
 
 0.60 
 
 0.60 
 
 0.40 
 
 0.75 
 
 0.81 
 
 0.96 
 
 0.69 
 
 61 
 
 Av. m. T. 
 
 0.60 
 0.77 
 
 1.04 
 1.14 
 
 0.94 
 1.10 
 
 0.80 
 
 1.12 
 
 0.48 
 
 1.00 
 
 0.66 
 0.70 
 
 0.16 
 0.22 
 
 0.40 
 
 0.72 
 
 0.83 
 0.93 
 
 0.68 
 
 0.64 
 
 0.75 
 
 1.19 
 
 0.68 
 
 0.83 
 
 0.76 
 
 0.85 
 
 The figure for the single subject is .82, for the six 
 patients it is .93, and for the four normal sub- 
 jects .64. This is anomalous, for the variation of 
 an individual should only approach the limit of 
 the variability of the group and not exceed it. 
 
 35
 
 546 VARIABILITY OF JUDGMENTS 
 
 Nevertheless, a striking contrast is formed to the 
 relative variations in the repeated judgments of 
 the postal cards, where each subject's judgments 
 were a distinct species of their own. 
 
 In Table XV the record of subject C contains 
 two very coarse deviations from the objective 
 order. There is a remarkable overestimation of 
 53 and a lesser one of 55, while 57 and 59 have 
 correspondingly low positions. It may be remem- 
 bered that this subject showed a tendency to 
 leave the weights as they were put before him, and 
 in random arrangements 53 would ordinarily oc- 
 cupy a position higher than its objective one, 59 a 
 lower. But so would 51 and 61, which are un- 
 affected. Subject I underestimates 53, J over- 
 estimates it. Altogether, 53 is seen to have a very 
 pecuUar behavior. 
 
 Comparing, as in Tables XIII and XIV, the 
 average of displacement with the average m. v., 
 we find between them four displacements, 9 per 
 cent. The order of discriminativeness of the ten 
 subjects as measured by the accordance of their 
 individual averages with the average of the ten, 
 gives 14 displacements from the average of dis- 
 placements and 15 from the size of the average 
 m. v., 31 per cent and 33 per cent respectively. 
 The displacements of the two middle weights, 57 
 and 55, from the average of displacements are 11, 
 or 24 per cent instead of 31 per cent, for the whole 
 six weights. This result thus agrees strikingly
 
 FREDERIC LYMAN WELLS 547 
 
 with the result for the single subject. The final 
 average order being correct in both cases, it would 
 seem that, empirically, the number of displace- 
 ments of an individual order from an average gives 
 a better idea of its relative correctness than the 
 precise arithmetical amount of its deviation from 
 this order. It may then also be used in cases where 
 there is no objective, only an average order, as in 
 judgments of mental traits. 
 
 Evidence of the psychophysical relationship is 
 again absent; 61 has a much smaller m. v. than 
 51, while those of 59 and 53 are practically equal. 
 The m. v.'s are here largest in the middle, as they 
 should be. 
 
 Conclusion 
 
 We have thus made a brief study of variability 
 in three classes of judgment; first, the highly 
 subjective feeling of preference for different sorts 
 of pictures, second, the more objective judgment of 
 color differences, and finally of a type of judgment 
 whose accuracy could be readily measured by 
 objective means. It has appeared that in the first 
 class the judgments of each individual cluster 
 about a mean which is true for that individual 
 only, and which varies from that of any other in- 
 dividual more than twice as much as its own 
 judgments vary from it; that in the second class, 
 with the colors, the variabihty of the successive
 
 548 VARIABILITY OF JUDGMENTS 
 
 judgments and those by different individuals mark- 
 edly approached each other, but still preserved a 
 significant difference; while in the third class, 
 with the weights, we found that there might be 
 even an excess of the individual variability over 
 the "social." This comparison seems to afford, 
 to a certain extent, a quantitative criterion of the 
 subjective. 
 
 In objective fields those who vary least from 
 their own judgments are, in the absence of con- 
 stant error, those of the most rehable judgment; 
 indeed, the constancy of our own opinions among 
 themselves seems to be more important than their 
 agreement with the standard of others. It is note- 
 worthy that those who vary less from their own 
 judgments are more likely to vary less from the 
 judgments of others in the cards and colors than 
 in the weights; it has been shown that this can- 
 not be ascribed wholly to the small ranges with the 
 weights. 
 
 It has again appeared in these experiments that 
 even in those fields that we might ordinarily term 
 most strictly objective, there are often certain re- 
 lations between compared stimuli that are constant 
 and peculiar to the individual. The same phe- 
 nomenon appeared in Henmon's work on color- 
 differentiation, two pairs of colors not necessarily 
 standing in the same relation to each other with 
 two individuals. The writer also observed it in 
 experimenting with sounds of language, there oc-
 
 FREDERIC LYMAN WELLS 549 
 
 curring a constant tendency to hear certain sounds 
 rather than others, which differed with the in- 
 dividual. This is, however, most difficult to 
 understand with our weights, for it would seem to 
 indicate that the dift'erences were not only of 
 kind, but also of degree. The situation is not one 
 that could be readily accounted for by displaced 
 centres of gravity. This peculiar phenomenon, for 
 which sensation habit is perhaps as good a term as 
 any, is one that stands in much need of special 
 and accurate investigation.
 
 THE VALIDITY OF JUDGMENTS OF 
 CHARACTER
 
 THE VALIDITY OF JUDGMENTS OF 
 CHARACTER 
 
 By Naomi Norswortuy 
 
 1 HE problem of the jud«^ment of character is 
 one which is continually confronting^ people of all 
 classes and stations. In many instances the cor- 
 rect estimate of a person's character is of vital 
 importance. The success of officers of adminis- 
 tration from the President of the United States to 
 the school superintendent of a small village depends 
 often on their ability to choose for their subordi- 
 nates persons of the proper character. In every- 
 day life one's happy choice of friends, one's 
 ability to sell goods, to persuade people to accept 
 a new point of view or doctrine, to get on harmoni- 
 ously with people in general in all the various 
 occupations of life depends upon one's ability to 
 estimate the powers, capacities, and characteristics 
 of people. To those who have to make personal 
 recommendations or make use of those made by 
 others, this question of judgment of character is 
 a grave one. Is it possible for one to judge at all 
 fairly the character of another ? When a recom- 
 mendation is read by an appointing officer, how 
 
 555
 
 554 JUDGMENTS OF CHARACTER 
 
 far does he get the estimate of character which the 
 writer intended him to have? If the question 
 concerned some physical facts about an individual 
 such as his acuity of vision or his height, there would 
 be no diflBculty in obtaining a figure which would 
 express his exact position in this measurement 
 as compared with other people. Even if the ques- 
 tion concerned some definite mental trait such as 
 his speed of reaction or perception, or his ability 
 to deal with abstract ideas within a certain field, 
 an exact numerical answer could be given. But 
 with such a complex thing as leadership, efficiency, 
 refinement, and the other vague and indefinite 
 traits to which we refer when we use the term 
 character, much doubt may be felt as to whether 
 exact quantitative estimates are possible. This 
 then is the chief problem of this paper. Can such 
 a trait as leadership or refinement be measured in 
 numerical units with any degree of exactitude.'^ 
 Most people will agree at once that such traits as 
 those mentioned cannot be measured in ordinary 
 units of amount, for, in the first place, the zero 
 points from which to begin the reckoning are not 
 known, and in the second place, these traits mani- 
 fest themselves in such complicated and subtle 
 ways that the task of expressing them in units of 
 amount is hopeless. Though this method cannot 
 be followed, the method of measurement by rela- 
 tive position in a series might be. People might 
 be ranked in order according to their power of
 
 NAOMI NORSWORTHY 555 
 
 leadership or according to their refinement, and if 
 this were proved to be possible, the numerical rat- 
 ing by such a means would be just as exact as 
 though the rating represented units of amount. 
 This method has been used recently by Professor 
 Cattell in his study of the eminence of men of 
 science. 
 
 The traits which I chose for investigation were 
 the following: physical health, mental balance, 
 intellect, emotions, will, quickness, intensity, 
 breadth, energy, judgment, originality, persever- 
 ance, reasonableness, clearness, independence, 
 co-operativeness, unselfishness, kindliness, cheer- 
 fulness, refinement, integrity, courage, efficiency, 
 and leadership.^ The question then is : Is it possi- 
 ble to give anyone a rank or position in these 
 characteristics with any degree of exactness ? 
 
 Individual X, a teacher, was given grades in the 
 above traits by five judges, the mother and the 
 two adult brothers of X, an intimate friend and a 
 colleague in the university, who assigned these 
 grades to X in accordance with the following 
 directions : Give X her position among a hundred 
 college instructors of about the same age in each 
 of the traits mentioned. A rank of 100 in any 
 trait would mean that X stood, in the opinion of 
 that judge, as highest among the hundred instruc- 
 tors ; a grade of 1 would mean that she ranked as 
 
 ' These were selected by I^rofessor Cattell and were used by him in some 
 of his work.
 
 556 JUDGMENTS OF CHARACTER 
 
 lowest. Similarly a grade of 80 would mean that 
 of the hundred 19 ranked higher and 79 lower than 
 she ; 34 would mean that 65 ranked higher and 33 
 lower than she, etc. Two records were taken from 
 each judge, the time between the two varying 
 from six weeks to four months. The gradings 
 were as given in Table I. 
 
 The first question to be raised on examining 
 these gradings would probably be, Do they mean 
 anything ? If we had rankings of X by a thousand 
 such judges instead of by five how would the two 
 sets compare ? How closely do these rankings 
 approximate the true ranking of X, meaning by 
 true ranking the ranking given by all the compe- 
 tent people who know X well. 
 
 That these rankings mean something and are 
 not the result of random choice or chance is proved 
 in two ways. (1) In the second trials, the same 
 judge does not diverge far from his first rating. 
 (2) The double judgments of the five judges do 
 not diverge far from each other. 
 
 To answer this question it is not necessary to use 
 the whole series of traits. The following eight 
 traits have been selected : intellect, quickness, 
 breadth, originality, co-operativeness, refinement, 
 efficiency, and leadership. In the two trials with 
 these traits the average difference of the first judg- 
 ment from the second in the case of A is 9.5. The 
 average difference of the two trials from the aver- 
 age of the two (the A. D. dis) is 4.7. A judgment
 
 NAOMI NORSWORTHY 
 
 TABLE I 
 
 557 
 
 A 
 
 B 
 
 C 
 
 D 
 
 E 
 
 
 ut 
 
 Id 
 
 ut 
 
 2d 
 
 iMt 
 
 2d 
 
 ut 
 
 2d 
 
 lit 
 
 2d 
 
 Physical health 
 
 60 
 
 70 
 
 50 
 
 50 
 
 60 
 
 50 
 
 55 
 
 45 
 
 37 
 
 40 
 
 Mental balance 
 
 53 
 
 80 
 
 80 
 
 90 
 
 70 
 
 90 
 
 82 
 
 82 
 
 83 
 
 85 
 
 Intellect . . . 
 
 95 
 
 90 
 
 95 
 
 90 
 
 90 
 
 90 
 
 92 
 
 88 
 
 80 
 
 84 
 
 Emotions . . . 
 
 40 
 
 60 
 
 80 
 
 85 
 
 50 
 
 60 
 
 85 
 
 77 
 
 63 
 
 50 
 
 Will 
 
 90 
 
 90 
 
 90 
 
 90 
 
 90 
 
 89 
 
 90 
 
 78 
 
 75 
 
 70 
 
 Quickness . . 
 
 95 
 
 85 
 
 90 
 
 95 
 
 90 
 
 86 
 
 98 
 
 92 
 
 100 
 
 100 
 
 Intensity . . . 
 
 85 
 
 85 
 
 80 
 
 90 
 
 60 
 
 65 
 
 88 
 
 83 
 
 80 
 
 85 
 
 Breadth . . . 
 
 40 
 
 50 
 
 75 
 
 75 
 
 60 
 
 80 
 
 45 
 
 45 
 
 51 
 
 63 
 
 Energy .... 
 
 75 
 
 75 
 
 90 
 
 85 
 
 80 
 
 86 
 
 90 
 
 82 
 
 80 
 
 90 
 
 Judgment . . . 
 
 62 
 
 80 
 
 85 
 
 80 
 
 60 
 
 75 
 
 88 
 
 78 
 
 90 
 
 90 
 
 Originality . . 
 
 48 
 
 60 
 
 70 
 
 75 
 
 50 
 
 50 
 
 85 
 
 87 
 
 60 
 
 66 
 
 Perseverance 
 
 88 
 
 85 
 
 90 
 
 85 
 
 90 
 
 98 
 
 78 
 
 65 
 
 73 
 
 80 
 
 Reasonableness 
 
 45 
 
 80 
 
 75 
 
 70 
 
 50 
 
 60 
 
 65 
 
 55 
 
 83 
 
 80 
 
 Clearness . . . 
 
 87 
 
 100 
 
 85 
 
 75 
 
 85 
 
 80 
 
 88 
 
 75 
 
 80 
 
 85 
 
 Independence . 
 
 85 
 
 90 
 
 80 
 
 60 
 
 80 
 
 80 
 
 92 
 
 77 
 
 60 
 
 65 
 
 Co-operativcness 
 
 50 
 
 60 
 
 85 
 
 80 
 
 87 
 
 86 
 
 65 
 
 40 
 
 99 
 
 95 
 
 UnselBshness . 
 
 77 
 
 90 
 
 95 
 
 85 
 
 95 
 
 99 
 
 95 
 
 85 
 
 90 
 
 90 
 
 Kindliness . . 
 
 87 
 
 90 
 
 90 
 
 85 
 
 90 
 
 65 
 
 90 
 
 92 
 
 100 
 
 95 
 
 Cheerfulness 
 
 73 
 
 80 
 
 90 
 
 90 
 
 90 
 
 86 
 
 08 
 
 72 
 
 83 
 
 85 
 
 Refinement . . 
 
 69 
 
 95 
 
 95 
 
 95 
 
 95 
 
 89 
 
 88 
 
 75 
 
 85 
 
 75 
 
 Integrity . . . 
 
 93 
 
 100 
 
 95 95 
 
 99 
 
 99 
 
 98 
 
 92 
 
 83 
 
 90 
 
 Courage . . . 
 
 85 
 
 95 
 
 98 90 
 
 85 
 
 00 
 
 75 
 
 62 
 
 65 
 
 75 
 
 Efficiency . . . 
 
 84 
 
 85 
 
 90 
 
 95 
 
 80 
 
 70 
 
 88 
 
 75 
 
 95 
 
 99 
 
 Leadership . . 
 
 73 
 
 75 
 
 80 
 
 70 
 
 50 
 
 60 
 
 90 
 
 77 
 
 69 
 
 67 
 
 A antl R were the two udult brothers of X. 
 C was the mother. 
 
 I) was the friend. 
 E was tlie colleague.
 
 558 JUDGMENTS OF CHARACTER 
 
 on the scale of 100 made twice has a reliability of 
 — '- — 7^ or in this case 3.3. This means then 
 
 that the chances are 99 to 1 against his true judg- 
 ments differing from 92.5, 90, 45, 54, 55, 82, 84.5, 
 and 74, which are the average judgments of the 
 two trials, by more than 10. Following the same 
 method with the other four judges, the reliability 
 of the average judgment of B is 1.77; that of C is 
 2.12 ; that of D is 3.33 ; that of E is 2.34 ; the reUa- 
 bility being measured in each case by the probable 
 average divergence of the true judgment from that 
 obtained by only two trials. Such judges as these 
 then, in two rather casual and hasty ratings of an 
 individual, approximate closely to the results they 
 would give if they rated the individual an infinite 
 number of times. Each judge's measures are at 
 least characteristic of him. 
 
 In the second place, the five judges do not 
 diverge far from each other in their estimates 
 of these eight traits, as is shown by the table 
 below. 
 
 This means that if we had an infinite number 
 of such judges of X's intellect the chances are 
 about 6 to 4 against their differing from 90 by more 
 than 1.16, and 99 to 1 against their differing from 90 
 by more than 3.6. These two facts then, first that 
 the individual judges in their second rating do not 
 diverge far from their first, and second, that the 
 five judges in their rating of these traits do not
 
 NAOMI NORSWORTHY 
 
 559 
 
 diverge far from each, prove that the ratings do 
 stand for some actual quantitative value and are 
 not subject to mere chance. Character then can 
 be measured quantitatively. Such complex traits 
 
 TABLE II 
 
 
 Median of 
 the five 
 ratings 
 
 Average de- 
 viation of 
 the five 
 from their 
 median 
 
 Probable average 
 divergence of tlie 
 median of the five 
 from the median 
 
 of an infinite 
 
 number of such 
 
 judges 
 
 Intellect 
 
 90.0 
 
 2.G 
 
 I.IG 
 
 Quickness 
 
 92.5 
 
 4.4 
 
 1.97 
 
 Breadth 
 
 57.0 
 
 11.0 
 
 4.03 
 
 Originality 
 
 G3.0 
 
 10.7 
 
 4.79 
 
 Co-operativenes3 . . 
 
 82.5 
 
 15.2 
 
 G.81 
 
 ReBnement .... 
 
 82.0 
 
 5.5 
 
 2.46 
 
 EtGciency 
 
 84.5 
 
 G.7 
 
 3.00 
 
 Leadership 
 
 74.0 
 
 6.1 
 
 2.73 
 
 as refinement, leadership, etc., can be rated 
 numerically. 
 
 The validity of the judgments in the sense of 
 their correspondence with the actual character of 
 X is then only a matter of the impartiality of the 
 group of judges. If these five judges did as a 
 group represent an impartial judgment of X the 
 ratings of Table II would represent measures of 
 character more valid and more precise than the
 
 560 JUDGMENTS OF CHARACTER 
 
 measurement of an individual's discrimination of 
 length or reaction time or memory span obtained 
 from five trials of the kind customarily made. 
 
 The certainty of impartiality in the judges can of 
 course never be attained. All the world may be 
 wrong. A working certainty is obtained by select- 
 ing judges at random from those who are intellec- 
 ually competent and are trained in observation of 
 human nature. 
 
 These conclusions would be insecure if based 
 on the case of X alone, but they have been fully 
 corroborated by various partial studies of the 
 validity of judgment by other judges of other in- 
 dividuals. For instance, nine members of a college 
 sorority were graded by five of their number with 
 respect to this same list of traits. The different 
 individuals of the nine do not receive the same 
 grades and the different judges do agree to a large 
 extent in their grades of the same individual. 
 That is, the judgments are by no means random ; 
 are reasonably precise; and are vahd in so far as 
 the judges are impartial. The results obtained 
 in the sample case of X may be expected in 
 general. 
 
 From such a series of measurements as those 
 in Table II, the question arises. How far is the 
 order of excellence of X in the various traits shown 
 by the table reliable.? The reliability of a differ- 
 ence between two measures equals the square root 
 of the sum of the squares of the reliabilities of the
 
 NAOMI NORSWORTHY 
 
 561 
 
 measures themselves. The relia])ihties of the or- 
 der ascertained may be seen from Table III. 
 
 T.\BLE III 
 
 
 
 
 
 Average iHver- 
 
 
 liating 
 
 Order 
 
 Obtained 
 differences 
 
 gences of "true" 
 
 differences from 
 
 the obtained 
 
 differences 
 
 Quickness . . 
 
 92.5 
 
 1 
 
 2.5 
 
 2.3 
 
 Intellect . . . 
 
 90.0 
 
 2 
 
 5.5 
 
 3.2 
 
 Efficiency . . . 
 
 84.3 
 
 3 
 
 2.4- 
 
 3.9 
 
 Co-operativeness 
 
 82. .5 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 and 
 
 and 
 
 and 
 
 
 
 Refinement . . 
 
 82.0 
 
 5 
 
 8.+ 
 
 7.4 
 
 I^eadership . . 
 
 74.0 
 
 6 
 
 ll.U 
 
 5.5 
 
 Originality . . 
 
 63.0 
 
 7 
 
 (i.O 
 
 6.9 
 
 Breadth . . . 
 
 57.0 
 
 8 
 
 
 
 In so far as the judges are as a group impartial 
 in their ratings of X in each of the traits in com- 
 parison with their average ratings of X for the 
 whole eight (and that they are approximately so, 
 there can be little doubt), there is certainty (in the 
 score of a prol)ability of 99 to 1) that X is higher 
 in Quickness than in Refinement, Leadership, 
 Originality, and Breadth ; that she is higher in 
 Intellect than in Leadership, Originality, and 
 Breadth ; and so on with other comparisons. The 
 order Quickness- Intellect (1), Efficiency, Co-oper- 
 ativeness, or Refinement (2), I-<eader.ship (3), Origi- 
 nality and Breadth (4), is practically certain. 
 
 36
 
 56^ JUDGMENTS OF CHARACTER 
 
 Having then a true estimate of X's rank in these 
 traits, this knowledge might be used to obtain an 
 answer to the question, Is the abiUty to judge char- 
 acter a measurable power? It might be possible 
 to rank people in their ability to judge the character 
 of others in the same way that we rank people in 
 their ability to read German, or react to a sound, or 
 sort grays. To test this possibility two college 
 classes were asked to rank X in the twenty-four 
 traits before mentioned. The directions given 
 were the same as those given to the five judges 
 with the additional request that no names appear 
 on the papers. This was done in order that the 
 judgments be as frank as possible. Three hun- 
 dred and eighty-seven papers were received, and of 
 these 200 were picked at random. The order of 
 the eight traits determined by the five judges was 
 taken as the standard order. The sum of the vari- 
 ations of each individual's judgment from the true 
 order was found. For instance, one student ranked 
 X as follows: 1 refinement, 2 intellect, 3 co-oper- 
 ativeness, 4 breadth, 5 quickness, 6 leadership, 
 7 efficiency, 8 originality. The variations of this 
 ranking from the order given by the five judges 
 are 3, 0, 2, 4, 4, 0, 4, 1 and their sum is 18. The 
 200 students were then distributed according to the 
 sum of errors of displacement from the true order. 
 The total distribution is shown in Fig. 1. 
 
 This means that there were four students, who 
 in ranking X in the eight traits, made only 6-7
 
 NAOMI NORSWORTHY 
 
 563 
 
 errors from the standard order, that there were 32 
 students who made 14-15 errors from the stand- 
 ard order, etc. It is evident that the sums of the 
 variations from the standard order range from 6 
 to 24. Probably this does not mean that one 
 
 45 
 
 40 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 36 
 
 1 ' 
 
 
 
 80 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 20 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 SO 
 
 
 
 16 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 5 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 b 
 
 10 
 
 12 
 
 14 16 
 
 FitiURK 1 
 
 16 
 
 80 
 
 S4 
 
 student is four times as good a judge of character 
 as another. The students differed somewhat in 
 amount of knowledge of X as well as in capacity 
 to judge and the variations due to chance are large. 
 But the data do give reason to believe that people 
 differ from each other in this ability as they do in
 
 564 JUDGMENTS OF CHARACTER 
 
 mathematical ability or in ability to spell, and 
 that these differences in accuracy of judgment of 
 character can be measured conveniently and pre- 
 cisely by first securing a true standard order of 
 characteristics in say ten persons, who as a group 
 are equally well known to the individuals whose 
 power of judgment we wish to measure, and then 
 proceeding as in the experiment. 
 
 This variability in people's power to judge char- 
 acter suggested two further questions: (1) Are 
 there some people about whose character there 
 will be a greater difference of opinion than about 
 others ? (2) Are there certain traits about which 
 there is less agreement in judging them than others ? 
 To answer the first question it was necessary to 
 have a group of people of about the same age and 
 social standing who knew each other somewhat 
 equally well. A small sorority in a college was 
 decided upon as fulfilling these conditions fairly 
 well. The list of characteristics with the directions 
 as before were given to ten members of this sorority 
 and each was asked to rank every other in all the 
 traits. Three of the girls failed to send papers. 
 The first step in dealing with the seven papers 
 was to ascertain whether the same standard for 
 judgment had been used by each one. To do this 
 the grades of each observer were distributed and 
 her median obtained. It was found that one of 
 the observers had used a very much lower stand- 
 ard than the others, therefore her estimates were
 
 NAOMI NORSWORTHY 565 
 
 omitted. The remaining six approximated very 
 closely the same standard — GO as Med. This 
 left five judgments for each girl in every trait. 
 The Med. and A. D. of the five judgments of each 
 trait for A were obtained. Then the average of 
 the A. D. was found. The same was done for 
 each of the other subjects. This average for each 
 individual showed the relative variability of the 
 judgments of these sorority members in the case 
 of each other. They are as follows : A, 8.0 ; B, 
 7.5; C, 7.5; D, 7.5; E, 0.6; F, 0.5 ; G, 0.5; H, 
 0.1; I, 5.7; J, 4.1. From these figures it would 
 seem that among ten girls who know each other 
 well there may be twice as much difference of 
 opinion about some one member of the group as 
 about some other. A, about whom there seems 
 to have been most difference of opinion, was ranked 
 as below the average college girl in seven of the 
 traits. J, about whom there seems to have been 
 most agreement, was ranked at about the average, 
 from 50 to 55 in most of the traits. 
 
 The second question, as to the variability in the 
 judgments of certain traits, brought to light some 
 in l( resting, if not very significant, results. As 
 they were o})tained from such a small number of 
 judges, they are only tentative. The papers sent 
 in by the sorority members were used. The aver- 
 age of the A. 1). for each trait for all individuals 
 was obtained to show the relative variability of 
 the different traits. The results are as follows :
 
 566 JUDGMENTS OF CHARACTER 
 
 Physical health 6.1 Reasonableness 5.7 
 
 Mental balance 5.4 Clearness 5.0 
 
 Intellect 6.4 Independence 6.5 
 
 Emotions 6.0 Co-operativeness 7.5 
 
 Will 6.5 Unselfishness 7.0 
 
 Quickness 5.8 Kindliness 8.3 
 
 Intensity 7.5 Cheerfulness 7.4 
 
 Breadth 6.1 Refinement 7.7 
 
 Energy 7.2 Integrity 8.6 
 
 Judgment 5.2 Courage 7.9 
 
 Originality 5.1 Efiiciency 6.1 
 
 Perseverance 6.7 Leadership 6.8 
 
 The most noticeable fact about this series is 
 that there is comparatively little variability — the 
 figures follow each other very closely, there being 
 but a difference of 3.6 between the lowest and the 
 highest. However, it is interesting to notice that 
 the traits about which there is most difference of 
 opinion are Integrity, Kindliness, and Refinement. 
 Evidently people use the words loosely or their 
 standards for judging these particular traits vary 
 much more than most of the others do. From 
 the standpoint of recommendation blanks sent out 
 by agencies, etc., this is rather unfortunate, for 
 the blanks mentioned always include matters of 
 integrity and refinement and from these figures it 
 seems probable that any individual opinion would 
 be less reliable in the case of these traits than in the 
 case of any others of the list. Such traits as clear- 
 ness, mental balance, judgment, and originality — 
 all of which are important factors in the success 
 of a teacher — are usually omitted though these
 
 NAOMI NORSWORTHY 567 
 
 are the very traits where the figures show the great- 
 est reliability. 
 
 It would seem possible by the use of some such 
 method as this carried out on a very much wider 
 scale, to justify a list of traits, numerical estimates 
 of which by competent people would be both 
 reliable and significant.
 
 REACTIONS AND PERCEPTIONS
 
 REACTIONS AND PERCEPTIONS 
 
 By J.vmes McKeen Cattell 
 
 vJNE of the many contributions which make 
 James's " Principles " the foundation of modern 
 psychology is the emphasis placed on the relation 
 of movements to mentiil life. We are told that 
 physiologically considered the whole neural mech- 
 anism is a machine for converting stimuli into re- 
 actions, and one of the most original applications 
 of the fact that objects excite bodily changes by a 
 preorganized mechanism is made in the explanation 
 of the emotions. I venture to take this occasion 
 to propose a thesis, which in certain aspects is an- 
 alogous to the James theory of the emotions. This 
 thesis is that perceptions are distinguished fi'om 
 images by the greater prominence of the conative 
 or motor elements. 
 
 Hume begins the first book of the " Treatise " 
 with the familiar words : "All the perceptions of the 
 human mind resolve themselves into two distinct 
 kinds, which I shall call impressions and ideas. 
 The difference betwixt these consists in the degrees 
 of force and liveliness with which they strike upon 
 the mind, and make their way into our thought or 
 
 571
 
 572 REACTIONS AND PERCEPTIONS 
 
 consciousness." Now it is apparently possible to 
 make a further analysis to the effect that the 
 superior force and liveliness of the impression as 
 compared with the idea, or of the perception as 
 compared with the image, is due in part to the 
 greater prevalence and definiteness of the motor 
 elements. 
 
 It is not intended to argue that the larger motor 
 element is the only criterion of perceptions. They 
 probably have a " local sign," dependent on the part 
 of the brain concerned ; but it is likely that motor 
 centres give the most significant differentia. A per- 
 ception may, as a rule, be more intense, definite, and 
 complete than an image, as the result of more in- 
 tense, definite, and complete stimulation in the case 
 of the afferent currents from the sense organs. 
 These currents are also likely to produce more de- 
 cided invasions of the train of ideas, and the usually 
 more sudden appearance is doubtless one of the 
 factors giving a perception its superior vividness. 
 
 When, however, following the path blazed by 
 James and cleared by Dewey and Miinsterberg, we 
 approach the subject from the side of the sensori- 
 motor arc, it appears that the way we react is as 
 much a part of the psychophysical process as the 
 kind of stimulation, and the motor elements are as 
 integral a part of the perception as the strictly sen- 
 sory elements. The stimuli pouring into the central 
 nervous system from the extra-bodily world do not 
 arrive in order that we may perceive them or may
 
 JAiVIES McKEEN CATTELL 573 
 
 write a system of psychology about them, but in 
 order that we may react to them. In our daily life 
 we must continually avoid obstacles and dangers, 
 must continually get what we need or want. Our 
 relations with the material world are primarily of 
 this kind ; in the case of the lower animals they are 
 almost exclusively of this kind. If a light is pre- 
 sented, my eyes turn toward it ; if some one speaks 
 to me, I am ready to answer. The response is due 
 to the mechanism of the nervous system as or- 
 ganized at birth and reorganized by experience. 
 The organism that failed to react in this way 
 could not survive, and natural selection accounts no 
 worse for the increasing complexity of our reactions 
 than for the increasing complexity of the organism. 
 In the case of images and ideas, the motor ele- 
 ment is not absent, but it is less prominent. They 
 are less likely to be followed by definite mov^e- 
 ments, which again give rise to new afferent cur- 
 rents with their accompanying perceptions. If some 
 one speaks to me, I am in the habit of answering ; 
 if I imagine the voice, I do not answer audibly if at 
 all. The liglit I see is not necessarily more faint 
 than the light I imagine, but there is a difference 
 in vividness or liveliness, which can very well be 
 attributed to the more customary need to react and 
 to the greater prominence of the motor element. 
 The nervous system is so organized that we react 
 to objects, and the perceptions thus have superior 
 vividness and reality, which enable us under ordi-
 
 574 REACTIONS AND PERCEPTIONS 
 
 nary circumstances to distinguish perceptions from 
 images. Our reactions as a rule work and are use- 
 ful, giving rise to new perceptions and new reac- 
 tions, which also work, and thus the material world 
 becomes real for us. 
 
 When a cat sees or smells a mouse, it jumps to 
 seize it, and the mouse runs to its hole. The 
 motor discharge in the cerebral centres of the cat 
 is as much a part of the perception of the mouse or 
 of the mouse situation as are the incoming currents. 
 The incoming currents and the pre-existing struc- 
 ture of the centres cause the discharge, and the 
 perception, in my opinion, usually follows the dis- 
 charge in time. This time order I pointed out 
 more than twenty years ago in the case of the 
 reaction-time. Here the stimulus does not cause 
 a perception which causes a movement, but the 
 stimulus and the pre-arranged brain connections 
 cause the movement, and the process is subse- 
 quently given in consciousness as awareness of the 
 kind of stimulus and the kind of movement. 
 
 The anthropomorphic cat, if it catches the mouse, 
 has a series of agreeable experiences, which are con- 
 vincing proof of the existence of a real mouse and 
 of a physical and, for it, rational world. When 
 the mouse situation again occurs, the cat has a 
 lively and vivid perception of a real mouse. But 
 while the cat is waiting for the mouse to turn up, it 
 may have memories and images. It does not jump 
 at these, because its nervous system is not made
 
 JAMES McKEEN CATTELL 575 
 
 that way. It is the incoming currents that arouse 
 the suitable responses. Centrally excited processes 
 do not and can not excite the same responses, for 
 in this case the animal would not survive. It is 
 only a mad cat that may jump at an imaginary 
 mouse, and for it the jumped-at mouse becomes 
 real. It should, of course, be remembered that in- 
 hibitions are as integral parts of the motor processes 
 as discharges. The cat waiting for the mouse to 
 come within reach is all muscular tension, which is 
 part of the vivid perception of the approaching 
 mouse. It appears indeed that consciousness is 
 related to inhibition in a peculiarly intimate fashion. 
 The character and validity of our perceptions are 
 prescribed by the motor responses no less than by 
 the incoming currents. Thus the visual world is 
 one in which we can do things rather than one in 
 which we simply see objects. As I go forward to 
 shake hands with a friend and approach from a dis- 
 tance of six feet to three, the image on the retina 
 becomes twice as large, but there is no change in 
 the apparent size of the man. A table has a rect- 
 angular top, from whatever point of view I look 
 at it. I know that in the retinal image two of the 
 anfifles are acute and two are obtuse, but I hesitate 
 and make a geometrical construction before I know 
 which is which. Most people would not suspect 
 that if the arm is held at full length, the tip of the 
 little finger will more than cover the sun. We have 
 tliis year made in our laboratory some experiments
 
 576 REACTIONS AND PERCEPTIONS 
 
 which measure the extreme extent of our inability 
 to compare the sizes of retinal images as such. Inci- 
 dentally I may remark that the indifference of the 
 actual retinal images seems to account for the ordi- 
 nary optical illusions. A slight clue, such as arrested 
 movements of the eyes or possible perspective, may 
 readily distort size or direction. 
 
 Experiments of my own, which I described 
 several years ago, give a somewhat striking demon- 
 stration of the extent to which perceptions are 
 shaped by the requirements of motor response. 
 Curiously enough, it had not been remarked that 
 in the vision of daily life objects are presented to 
 the eye one after another, but are perceived side by 
 side. As I look about the room, first one object 
 and then another falls on the area of distinct vision, 
 but I see the objects, not one after another at the 
 same place, but side by side in the spatial arrange- 
 ment in which I should find them, and covering a 
 field in which it would be impossible for me to see 
 simultaneously. 
 
 The results are similar if the eyes are stiU and 
 the objects are moved over the retina. If I look 
 through a window one centimetre square, and be- 
 hind it three centimetre squares separated by centi- 
 metre spaces are passed, I do not see one square 
 after the other, but the three squares side by side, 
 somewhat crowded together and blurred, but two 
 or three times as large as the window through 
 which they are seen. If in this way first red is
 
 JAMES McKEEN CATTELL 577 
 
 exhibited and then green, we do not see first red 
 and then green, but red, white, and green, side by- 
 side and covering a field several times as large as 
 the retinal image. AVe perceive as a spatial con- 
 tinuum what is a time series in the physical world, 
 in the incoming currents and in the brain centres. 
 
 In these cases each perceives the same physical 
 stimulus in his owti way. He may see the green 
 above the red, or conversely ; the green within the 
 red, or conversely ; bars of red and green arranged 
 vertically or horizontally, etc. The first time that 
 a stimulus is presented to an observer, he ordinarily 
 has only a vague perception. The same stimulus 
 after several trials gives a clear perception, which 
 thereafter tends to remain the same for the same 
 observer, though likely to be very different for dif- 
 ferent observers. When the actual physical stimu- 
 lus is explained to observers, some of them see it as 
 before, others quite differently. All of which shows 
 that the attitude of the observer is as integral a 
 part of perceptions as the incoming nervous cur- 
 rents, and that perceptions are prescribed by 
 reactions. 
 
 It is sight and kina?sthetic sensations which, in 
 the main, give us our spatial and material world. 
 In sight, the movements of the eyes, head, and 
 body are of extreme importance. AVe have with 
 these senses immediate and constant reactions to 
 stimuli. Hearing is less objective, owing to the 
 loss of movable ears, but it is still rather intimately 
 
 37
 
 578 REACTIONS AND PERCEPTIONS 
 
 connected with movement, especially on the side 
 of time correspondence. SmeU, tasLe, and organic 
 sensations have decreasing objectivity. The re- 
 actions occur mainly within the body, and as we 
 have the same body always with us, we regard it as 
 part of ourselves rather than of the material world. 
 This is especially true of the body known by kinses- 
 thetic and organic sensations ; the seen body, 
 which alters its relation to the visual world, is more 
 likely to be regarded as part of it. 
 
 Kinsesthetic perceptions and images have a pe- 
 culiar position. We can form an image of a light 
 or sound, but we cannot directly produce an ob- 
 jective light or sound ; we can, however, directly 
 produce movements. It may not be clear in a 
 given case whether we have an image of a move- 
 ment or have actually produced a movement or a 
 partially inhibited impulse to make the movement. 
 It appears to me that in so far as my thoughts are 
 in sensory terms, they are mainly in the form of 
 motor speech. I am inclined to believe that the 
 articulation or the impulse to articulate actually 
 takes place, and that it is not a matter of images 
 at all, but of this I am not sure. Now the diffi- 
 culty of discriminating between kinsesthetic percep- 
 tions and images seems, to a slight degree at least, 
 to support the view that it is the motor element 
 which distinguishes sights and sounds from visual 
 and auditory images. 
 
 Pleasures and pains are sui generis like colors and
 
 JAMES McKEEN CATTELL 579 
 
 sounds. They probably have the teleological si<^riif- 
 icance usually attributed to them ; in any case, 
 they tend, as a rule, to accompany, respectively, 
 those performances that are beneficial or harmful 
 to the organism or to the race. They seem to 
 accompany both incoming and outgoing currents, 
 and they are very vivid and real, but are not objec- 
 tified. This seems, in part at least, to be accounted 
 for by the fact that the senses which give us most 
 knowledge of the physical world give us the least 
 pleasure-pain, and conversely. The organic sen- 
 sations give us no knowledge of tlie extra-bodily 
 world and but little of what happens within the 
 body, but the hedonic elements are constant and 
 may be intense. Images of pleasures and pains are 
 lacking or obscure, and this holds also — at least in 
 my own case — for organic sensations, smells, and 
 tastes. It seems that the sensori-motor arcs begin- 
 ning and ending in the physical world give reality 
 to our perception of objects, and the arcs begin- 
 ning and ending within the body give reality to 
 ourselves. 
 
 In the case of the emotions the cerebral commo- 
 tion, as James has so brilliantly argued, is probably 
 chiefly due to the excitation of bodily changes by 
 the object and the discharges to the brain from 
 the bodily excitation. It is not an essential part 
 of the theory that the emotion should be correlated 
 only with the afferent currents ; indeed, the theory 
 is apparently strengthened if we assume that feel-
 
 580 REACTIONS AND PERCEPTIONS 
 
 ings and emotions are associated with those cerebral 
 conditions which discharge into the viscera, etc., 
 as well as with the conditions excited by afferent 
 currents from the inner body. In Dewey's words, 
 the emotional excitement represents the tension of 
 stimulus and response. It appears to me that the 
 incoming currents and the discharges which lead 
 to definite muscular reactions give reality to the 
 perceptions, and the incoming currents and the 
 discharges to the inner organs with the vaguer 
 muscular contractions give rise to the emotions. 
 Then the purposive movements cause new stimuli 
 and new reactions which add further vividness and 
 reality to our perception of objects, and the com- 
 motion within the body gives rise to new excita- 
 tions and to new discharges by which the emotion 
 is heightened. 
 
 The theory does not require us to draw a definite 
 line between perceptions and images. It is indeed 
 confirmed by cases in which they are confused, for 
 this occurs when the motor reactions are confused 
 — when they are inhibited or are excessive. In 
 sleep, in reverie, in some forms of hypnotism, in- 
 toxication, and insanity, the motor reactions are 
 lacking or indefinite. In these cases there are 
 dreams, visions, and hallucinations. We do not 
 respond to the objects of the real world, and the 
 distinctions between objects and ideas, between 
 perceptions and imaginings, are obscured or obliter- 
 ated. As a man falls asleep, he becomes passive,
 
 JAMES McKEEN CATTELL 581 
 
 he does not look or listen, and gradually his imagery 
 becomes visions and dreams. In slight delirium or 
 opium intoxication, if the patient arouses himself 
 and responds to the environment the visions dis- 
 appear, but return as soon as he relapses into inac- 
 tion. 1 made a long while ago some experiments 
 with hashish. Under the influence of this drug 
 the subject may relapse into a passive condition in 
 which time becomes endlessly long, space endlessly 
 extended, and curious hallucinations occur. But 
 if he gets up and walks about, looks and listens, 
 the hallucinations practically disappear. In hyp- 
 notism the subject becomes passive, he can be 
 made cataleptic, his movements are suggested to 
 him instead of being normal responses to the 
 environment. Artificial passivity is a prominent 
 factor in the trances of the mystics and of the 
 eastern yoga. In melancholia the failure of ade- 
 quate motor responses precedes the hallucinations. 
 On the other hand, objects and images are 
 equally likely to be confused when the motor 
 reactions are excessive or unnatural. It is when 
 the girl passes the churchyard at night, starting 
 at every sight and sound, that she sees the tomb- 
 stone as a ghost. In mania and in some phases of 
 hysteria and delirium, the movements are uncon- 
 trolled and there are delusions and hallucinations. 
 In the dancing mania and other psychological epi- 
 demics, in the camp-meeting revivals and the rest, 
 the excessive and irrelevant movements may be
 
 582 REACTIONS AND PERCEPTIONS 
 
 regarded as the cause rather than as the effect of 
 the mental disintegration. Rhythmic movements 
 are in a way extra-natural, not representing normal 
 response to stimuli ; they are a common method 
 of producing ecstasy and abnormal mental states 
 with hallucinations and the like. In savage rites 
 and religious manias we have these in a crude 
 form. In dancing and in singing, in music and in 
 poetry, in oratory and in the intoned church serv- 
 ice, we have them in more refined fashion ; and 
 we may regard the rhythmic motor impulses as 
 one of the causes of the slight intoxication, the 
 heightened emotional sensibiUty and loss of reality 
 of the material world which then occur. I have 
 myself lost self-consciousness with extraordinary 
 completeness when playing football. Every muscle 
 of the body is in action or in a state of unstable 
 equilibrium, and the consciousness of a distinction 
 between one's self and the rest of the world com- 
 pletely disappears. Something of the same kind to 
 a lesser degree still occurs when I play tennis or 
 swim in the sea. 
 
 It may further be noted that in many of the 
 cases cited above we have first excessive or un- 
 natural motor discharge, followed by lack of 
 response. Typical but extreme cases are the epi- 
 leptic fit — a violent explosion followed by coma — 
 or mania followed by dementia. In intoxication 
 the first symptom is the weakening of normal in- 
 hibition, the loosened tongue, the taking of one
 
 JAMES McKEEN CATTELL 583 
 
 more glass, etc. This is followed by disintegration 
 of the normal reflexes — staggering, thick speech, 
 double vision. Finally coma supervenes. 
 
 It is of course possible that in all these cases the 
 mental changes may not be due to the motor dis- 
 turbances, but that they have a common cause. 
 Fatigue, fasting, abnormal blood supply, a cerebral 
 poison or emotional excitement may be regarded as 
 the cause both of the excessive or lacking motor 
 responses and of the mental disorganization. But 
 while it is not necessary to exclude other factors, 
 the motor theory seems to be a simple and adequate 
 explanation. It accounts for these disturbances, 
 but does not depend on them for its verification. 
 
 We cannot separate images from perceptions. 
 Images are revivals of past sensations, and percep- 
 tions are mainly supplied by conditions of the cen- 
 tral nervous system. Images and perceptions are 
 equally the result of brain changes, which are them- 
 selves part of the world's material system. But 
 the brain changes which are excited from wdthin 
 are less likely to result in motor discharges than 
 those which form parts of sensori-motor arcs. This 
 is necessary if the organism is to survive and pros- 
 per. The more pronounced motor elements of the 
 sensori-motor arcs are represented by superior vivid- 
 ness in perceptions as compared with images. This 
 appears to be at least one of the factors enabling us 
 to construct the world in which we live, and the 
 statement appears to be a step, liowever small, in
 
 584 REACTIONS AND PERCEPTIONS 
 
 the direction of passing from metaphysics to science, 
 from epistemology to psychology, from theory of 
 knowledge to knowledge of facts. 
 
 It is a discovery of natural science that each of us 
 remains within his own experience. This experi- 
 ence is, however, such that it leads us to live in the 
 world of common sense and perhaps later in the 
 world of natural science. I do not see why episte- 
 mology or metaphysics should want to come in here 
 as something super-psychological or meta-scientific. 
 We can as a logical entertainment construct queer 
 worlds ; but none of these is the world in which we 
 live. We can fancy a world of Arthurian knights, 
 or of Arabian nights, or of metaphysical twilight, 
 but those who should act as though they lived in 
 such worlds would find themselves in those parts of 
 the real world known as prisons or insane asylums. 
 So long as the world of common sense and natural 
 science continues to honor the drafts that we draw 
 on it, we have satisfactory evidence of its solvency. 
 This, I trust, is sound pragmatism.
 
 A PRAGMATIC SUBSTITUTE FOR 
 FREE WILL
 
 A PRAGMATIC SUBSTITUTE FOR 
 FREE WILL 
 
 By Edward L. Thorndike 
 
 IN his recent lectures on Pragmatism Professor 
 James emphasizes the fact that the only issue of 
 consequence in the free-will controversy is me- 
 liorism, for which indeterminism gives possibility.* 
 It has perhaps not been clearly understood that 
 meliorism is possible without the presupposition 
 that the result of any condition of nature is inde- 
 terminate, — without any need of our going against, 
 or even beyond, the scientific, matter-of-fact point 
 of view and habit of interpreting the universe. It 
 seems worth while, then, to show that the natural 
 constitution of the world makes meliorism possible, 
 and, in fact, necessary. 
 
 If the interpretation of human and animal be- 
 havior to be offered in the present paper is true, no 
 one needs to deny the accepted doctrine of the con- 
 servation of energy or to abate a jot his allegiance 
 to brain physiology or to swap the logic of science 
 for that of hope in order to justify the faith that we 
 make the world better. Indeed, the one thing 
 
 » "Pragmatism." pp. 118-121. 
 
 587
 
 588 A SUBSTITUTE FOR FREE WILL 
 
 which can justify that faith is precisely brain- 
 physiology as revealed by animal behavior. 
 
 What is meant in the discussion that follows will 
 be abundantly clear to a matter-of-fact mind that 
 interprets the terms used by their contexts, but, in 
 case these terms may have been appropriated by 
 philosophers for certain special meanings, I now 
 define them. I shall use satisfying or satisfiei'S to 
 mean those states of affairs which, in the case of us 
 human beings, are welcomed, cherished, preferred 
 to exist rather than to not exist, and which, in the 
 case of animals in general, the organism does 
 nothing to avoid, often doing such things as attain 
 and preserve them. I shall use discomforting or 
 annoying or troublers to mean those states of affairs 
 which, in the case of us human beings, are repelled, 
 disliked, preferred to not exist rather than to exist, 
 and which, in the case of animals in general, the 
 organism commonly avoids and abandons. To 
 satisfy will mean to be or to make to be a satisfier; 
 satisfyingness will mean the quality of being a sat- 
 isfier ; to annoy or to trouble and intolerability or 
 annoyingness will have corresponding meanings.^ 
 
 By meliorism is meant the hypothesis that the 
 world can increase in satisfyingness or decrease in 
 annoyingness or both to the individual or group in 
 
 * Satisfying is, of course, not a synonym for pleasure-giving ; nor is dis- 
 comforting a synonym for painful. States of affairs that do not give any pleas- 
 ure in its ordinary sense may be highly satisfying, and certain pleasures 
 intolerable. A similar difEerence exists between the discomforting and the 
 painful.
 
 EDWARD L. THORNDIKE 589 
 
 question. Such changes I shall call briefly changes 
 for the better. The group in question in this dis- 
 cussion will be the human species. That is, con- 
 cretely I shall try to prove that the behavior of 
 human beings changes the world for the better for 
 them and for future human beings. If their be- 
 havior has this influence, meliorism is possible, and 
 unless the world under other influences changes 
 enough to counterbalance it, meliorism is assured. 
 
 The first and also the essential part of the argu- 
 ment is to prove that the behavior of a man to the 
 same situation (excluding the man's nervous system 
 from the requirement of sameness) becomes as a 
 rule more and more productive of the satisfying 
 and less of the discomforting as the situation 
 recurs. 
 
 This statement will not seem to most of my 
 readers to need proof. They will, quite properly, 
 regard it as a paraphrase of the statement that man 
 modifies his behavior so as to adapt himself better 
 to his environment. They will say that nobody 
 doubts this, that every hour's life proves that men 
 learn, that the action of men in business and indus- 
 try and government and the whole system of in- 
 centives and deterrents in homes, schools, and 
 states prove that men's behavior is modified in 
 favor of the satisfying, that they act so as to get 
 what they want. They will accept it as a true 
 statement, but neglect it as a rather insignificant 
 one. I, on the contrary, am much concerned to
 
 590 A SUBSTITUTE FOR FREE WILL 
 
 make sure that it is true, being confident that if it 
 is true, nothing else in the world is so significant. 
 
 For, under certain conditions of social organiza- 
 tion, the success of men in modifying their behavior 
 so as to make the same external situation more 
 productive of the satisfying to them singly means 
 an increase in the satisfying for the whole contem- 
 poraneous group. And under certain conditions 
 of reproduction and of similarity in the wants of 
 successive generations of men, this success means 
 an increase in the satisfying for the whole group's 
 offspring, that is, for the race in the future. These 
 conditions can be shown to exist. Moreover, the 
 nature and amount of man's power to modify be- 
 havior in favor of the satisfying are definite and 
 ascertainable, so that the meliorism which follows 
 therefrom is entirely independent of the supernatu- 
 ral; is intelligible, free from vagueness, proper to 
 serve as a basis for practice; is even measurable in 
 amount. It is because human modifiability in favor 
 of the satisfying guarantees meliorism to the species, 
 a meliorism, too, which can be understood and 
 reckoned with as we understand the growth of corn 
 or the circulation of the blood, that it seems to me 
 the most significant thing in the world, if true. 
 
 In human practice its truth has been assumed in 
 much the same way as that of the existence of other 
 minds or of the value of happiness. In psychologi- 
 cal theory little attention has been paid to it, partly 
 because the problem of how we come to perceive
 
 EDWARD L. THORNDIKE 591 
 
 the external world has been so emphasized and 
 partly because psychologists have not fully realized 
 that it is as truly influential in every case of learn- 
 ing, in the most subtle reasonings and appreciations, 
 as in obvious motor responses such as opening a 
 door or managing a spoon. But no one has ever 
 denied it outright. 
 
 Appearances surely are enormously in favor of 
 modifiability in favor of the satisfying, but there is 
 one notable difficulty, that of conceiving any physio- 
 logical processes paralleling the satisfying and dis- 
 comforting aspects of states of affairs and capable 
 of strengthening and weakening the conditions 
 which preceded them. If one could know or even 
 surmise how, for instance, the discomfort of the blow 
 received by a jumping dog makes him less likely to 
 jump again in the same situation, one would justly 
 feel much safer in believing that it did. Instead, 
 therefore, of adding to the bulk of evidence that 
 neurone connections are modified by the results to 
 the organism that follow, I shall try to strengthen 
 the proof by a provisional hypothesis as to how they 
 are so modified. This hypothesis is, very baldly, 
 as follows : 
 
 1. On its physiological side behavior in the 
 higher animals is a struggle for existence amongst 
 neurone connections. The formation of a habit 
 means the survival of one connection, the elimina- 
 tion of a futile response to a given situation means 
 the death of another.
 
 592 A SUBSTITUTE FOR FREE WILL 
 
 2. The main functions of the Hfe of a neurone 
 are nutrition, conduction, and movement. 
 
 3. The modifiability of an animal, that is, the 
 eUmination and survival of connections between its 
 neurones, is due to the third function only, to the 
 neurones' movements, neurone connections equalling 
 certain arrangements in space of the terminal proc- 
 esses of the neurones. 
 
 4. A modifiable neurone behaves in its move- 
 ments essentially as do the unicellular organisms. 
 When its life activities, other than movements, are 
 going on w^ell, it continues whatever movement ac- 
 tivity it is engaged in ; when its life processes are 
 interfered with, it makes one or more of the re- 
 sponses to such interference provided in its reper- 
 toire. The action system of a neurone is probably 
 restricted to the terminals of its processes and its 
 repertoire is probably as narrow as an amoeba's. 
 
 5. Activity in conduction puts a neurone in a 
 physiological state favorable to activity in nutrition, 
 and this state in turn provokes a physiological state 
 favorable to activity in movement. 
 
 An attempt to support these five hypotheses by 
 evidence is beyond the purpose of this article, which 
 is only to describe a mechanism capable of produc- 
 ing behavior in favor of the satisfying, not to prove 
 that just that mechanism does exist. Nor could 
 anything even approximating a proof of them be 
 offered. The hypotheses are not, however, wildly 
 extravagant devices sought out simply because they
 
 EDWARD L. TIIORNDIKE 593 
 
 fit the case of behavior alone. That movement 
 occurs in the ends of the processes of a neurone is 
 held to be highly probable by physiologists. That 
 the formation of habits concerns the movement 
 function rather than the conduction function of a 
 neurone has some slight direct support in the great 
 resistance to fatigue of the conduction function. 
 For the neurone to maintain in a specialized form 
 the behavior of unicellular animals is at least more 
 probable from present knowledge than for it to 
 behave in any other one way. That the nutrition 
 function will be made excitable by exercise of the 
 conduction function is only an application to the 
 neurone of one general physiological fact, and that 
 the neurone, thus made hungry, will be more easily 
 excited to movement, is only a similar application 
 of another. 
 
 These five hj^otheses, together with accepted 
 facts of general physiology, will give a sufficient ex- 
 planation of how behavior is modified permanently 
 in favor of the satisfying provided some adequate 
 connection can be shown to exist between the 
 satisfying and annoying and the maintenance or 
 depression of the life activities of the neurones 
 other than movement. It is necessary to find for 
 the satisfyingness and annoyingness physiological 
 equivalents such as may enter as components into 
 any activity-complex whatever of the modifiable 
 neurones. For we know that in human life almost 
 any state of affairs whatever may take on and put 
 
 38
 
 594 A SUBSTITUTE FOR FREE WILL 
 
 off this extra quality of satisfying or annoying. 
 The only further necessity is that these two physi- 
 ological parallels should connect with a raising and 
 lowering of the general offering of nutrition to the 
 neurones. My suggestions will again be made as 
 bald affirmatives. 
 
 6. The physiological parallel of the discomfort- 
 ing is excessive stimulation to conduction in a 
 neurone or neurones, meaning by excessive more 
 stimulation than is at the time readily conducted off 
 to other neurones, a choked- up condition of the 
 neurone, as it were. This excessive stimulation 
 arises either from too much ingress of stimulation 
 or too little outlet. 
 
 Pains and the thwarting of instinctive tendencies 
 (and other tendencies derived therefrom) are the 
 chief annoyers. The excessive stimulation hypoth- 
 esis fits both very well, for the latter are almost 
 certainly represented physiologically by a pent-up 
 condition of the discharge in the neurones concerned, 
 and the one thing we know about the physiological 
 parallel of pain is that in many cases very great 
 stimulation of any neurone is that parallel or is 
 intimately allied to it. The difficult cases for the 
 hypothesis are the semi-assthetic disUkes, the an- 
 noyingness of certain chords, colors, tastes, and the 
 like in spite of the fact that they are paralleled by 
 only moderate stimulation of any neurones. It is 
 to be noted, however, that many of these are cases 
 of acquired dislike through the association of the
 
 EDWARD L. THORNDIKE 595 
 
 stimulation with some typical pain or thwarting, 
 and that others may be explained by the fact that 
 the mere unaccustomedness may make a stimula- 
 tion which is in itself moderate in amount be 
 excessive to the neurones in question. Hence the 
 enormous influence of social tradition and indi- 
 vidual experience in deciding which musical chords, 
 which foods and drinks, which clothes and customs, 
 shall be disliked. 
 
 7. The physiological parallel of the satisfying 
 is normal stimulation to conduction in neurones, 
 meaning by normal such stimulation a^ is at the time 
 readily conducted ojff to other neurones. 
 
 In favor of such a parallelism stand the facts that 
 mental and motor activity are p^r se satisfying, 
 that the essence of the desirability of play of all 
 sorts is richness of activity with freedom from 
 inhibitions, and that the most pleasurable sensations 
 lose their satisfyingness if too intense or too pro- 
 longed. The difficult cases for it are certain sen- 
 sations, for instance, those connected with eating, 
 which seem to be much more satisfying than other 
 sensations presumably involving equally normal 
 stimulations. Such cases are perhaps explainable 
 on the ground that they \i\Yo\\e a greater number 
 of neurones, or by the not unlikely secondary hy- 
 pothesis that the degree of satisfyingness of normal 
 stimulation varies amongst neurones, being, for 
 example, greater in the neurones concerned with 
 tastes than in those concerned with temperature.
 
 596 A SUBSTITUTE FOR FREE WILL 
 
 8. Over-stimulation of any neurone group de- 
 creases, and normal stimulation increases the tem- 
 porary supply of food to the nervous system as a 
 whole. 
 
 This feature of my explanation is the weakest in 
 direct evidential support. Not much can be said in 
 its favor except that there is nothing against it, that 
 such an arrangement would be easy to evolve and 
 would be so useful as to be almost surely selected 
 for survival, and that it would account for the weak- 
 ening effect of pains and worry upon the nervous 
 system in general and the opposite total healthy 
 tonus resulting from sensory pleasures and other 
 satisfiers as well as for the facts of modifiability. 
 
 The significance of these hypotheses about the 
 physiology of behavior will be clear to students of 
 concrete cases of human and animal learning, but 
 for convenience I give the facts for the fundamen- 
 tal types of adaptive modifiability. 
 
 Case I. A situation arouses a response which 
 brings a satisfying state of affairs. The probability 
 of a similar response to the situation in the future 
 is increased up to some physiological limit. 
 
 Let N equal the neurone action corresponding to 
 the situation, S. N arouses n^, leading to the act 
 aj, which brings the satisfying situation Ss. What- 
 ever movement-action existed to cause the conduc- 
 tion to pass by N-nj, is maintained, since the 
 conditions of food supply due to Ss favor the life- 
 processes. The Nui neurones are more influenced
 
 EDWARD L. THORNDIKE 597 
 
 by the hci»^htened food supply than other neurones, 
 because they have recently been in conduction 
 activity. Any later movement-action in the Xui 
 neurones will then have as its starting-point the 
 position taken up in this experience rather than the 
 average previous position. 
 
 Case II. A situation arouses a response which 
 brings an annoying state of affairs. The probability 
 of a similar response in the future is lessened. 
 
 N here arouses Uj leading to the act a2, which 
 brings the discomforting situation, Su. The dimi- 
 nution in food supply due to Su interferes with 
 the life-processes of the Nua neurones. Whatever 
 movement-action existed to cause the connection 
 Nn2 is changed to some other, if the neurone's 
 repertoire includes as a response to interference with 
 its life-processes any other movement-action. Other 
 neurones than those concerned in Xno will be less 
 influenced by the lessened food supply because they 
 have not so recently been in conduction activity. 
 
 Case III. A situation arouses several responses, 
 one of which brings a satisfying result whereas the 
 others bring annoying results. The satisfying re- 
 sponse is selected by the forces operative in Case I 
 and Case II. 
 
 Case IV. A situation arouses several responses, 
 all bringing satisfying results, one of which brings 
 more intense satisfaction than tiie rest. This re- 
 sponse is selected because it implies the greatest 
 increase in the food supply and so the strongest ten-
 
 598 A SUBSTITUTE FOR FREE WILL 
 
 dency for the neurones concerned in the connection 
 to persist in the movement-activity producing the 
 connection. 
 
 Case V. A situation arouses several responses all 
 bringing annoying results, one of which brings the 
 least annoying results. Relatively to the others it 
 will be selected, because the movement-actions con- 
 cerned with the others will be checked more rapidly 
 and more vigorously. 
 
 Professor Jennings has outlined a physiological 
 explanation of adaptive modifiability which is, or 
 at least seems, simpler than the one just described. 
 Anyone who is interested not only in meliorism as 
 a general fact, but also in the concrete mechanisms 
 which account for it, should study his account ^ in 
 detail. Its general features are : 
 
 (1) That when the life-processes of ^n organism 
 are progressing well, whatever behavior is going on, 
 continues to go on. 
 
 (2) That interference with the life-processes pro- 
 duces change in behavior. 
 
 (3) That, of these changes, the one that puts an 
 end to the interference is selected for survival at the 
 time by (1) and (2) and for superior survival in the 
 future by the law of the resolution of physiological 
 states, which is that " when a certain physiological 
 state has been resolved, through the action of an 
 external agent or otherwise, into a second physio- 
 logical state, this resolution becomes easier, so that 
 
 • " The Behavior of the Lower Organisms," Part III.
 
 EDWARD L. TIIORNDIKE 599 
 
 in the course of time it takes place quickly and 
 spontaneously," so that a series of states A— >B-^C 
 — *D comes to replace itself by A— >D/ 
 
 It seems to the WTiter necessary to go beyond 
 Professor Jennings's hypothesis, because it fits 
 readily only the secondary case where the situation 
 arousing responses is annoying and where one of the 
 responses brings a satisfying result in place of it, and 
 because the facts summarized in the law of resolu- 
 tion seem to need explanation by adaptive modi- 
 fiability rather than to themselves explain it. At 
 another time I hope to review his explanation with 
 the full respect and care which its attractive sim- 
 plicity and the masterly experimental work w^hich 
 led to it demand. For the present w^e must turn 
 to more general issues, reminding the reader that 
 whatever may be thought either of Professor 
 Jennings's or my own explanation of the mechan- 
 ism whereby the responses made as the same ex- 
 ternal situation recurs come to increasingly satisfy, 
 there is no a priori impossibility in the performance 
 of the task by some mechanism. Just as the world 
 at large is so constituted as to produce increasingly 
 those aggregations of matter which possess life, so 
 the nervous system may be so constituted as to 
 produce increasingly those neural arrangements 
 which possess satisfyingness. 
 
 The next step in the argument is to show that 
 behavior in favor of the satisfying to an individual 
 
 ' " The Behavior of the Lower Organisms," Part III, pp. 289-290.
 
 600 A SUBSTITUTE FOR FREE WILL 
 
 leads to meliorism for the species. The facts will be 
 clearer if some attention is given, first to an obvious 
 but practically very important extension of modifia- 
 bility, and second to the influence of behavior in 
 favor of the temporarily satisfying upon the satisfy- 
 ingness of the individual's entire life thereafter. 
 
 In the discussion so far the modifications in be- 
 havior itself have been emphasized, but behavior 
 not only changes itself for the better for the same 
 situation, but also changes the situations themselves 
 for the better for the same organism. Even the 
 lower animals build nests and store food as well as 
 form habits ; in man, of course, this second sort of 
 amelioration by behavior reaches an enormous 
 growth. There is, however, no fundamental differ- 
 ence between influencing the atoms in one's body 
 via the neurones and influencing the atoms out of 
 the body via the neurones and body too. No new 
 analysis is needed for the latter case. It is impor- 
 tant only because it is responsible for a large part 
 of the amelioration of a single life taken in its en- 
 tirety, and for still more of the amelioration of the 
 Hfe of the species by the behavior of men singly. 
 
 In the discussion so far the amelioration has 
 been an amelioration of the results of one situation, 
 leaving it possible that changing one's life for the 
 better in this particular might change it for the 
 worse as a whole. Learning to quench thirst satis- 
 factorily, for example, might force upon one long 
 years of misery as a drunkard. Behavior in favor
 
 EDWARD L. TIIORXDIKE GOl 
 
 of the immediately satisfying may and often is in 
 favor of eventual discomfort, either because the 
 immediately satisfying has such consequences of it- 
 self or because the organism at a later condition of 
 development is annoyed by early satisfiers. On the 
 whole, however, the satisfying is less likely to in- 
 volve secondary annoyances than is the annoying, 
 and the organisms tastes are much more likely to 
 persist with moderate alterations than to pass sud- 
 denly into their oppositcs. Moreover, the human 
 intellect can perform the most useful ser\'ice of 
 considering a state of affairs in its remote and 
 future implications and associating with it the 
 measure of satisfyingness which it deserves in view 
 of these as well as of its immediate effect ; in so far 
 as he has knowledge and rational tastes man can 
 modify his behavior throughout in favor of the 
 satisfying to him as a total life. There are a few 
 men whose behavior as a whole has, by stupidity 
 or bad fortune, increased their misery as a whole. 
 There are still more whose behavior has increased 
 stiites of affairs which others would be made mis- 
 erable by, but which perhaps do not seriously 
 annoy them. (We must not forget that there are 
 satisfied drunkards, paupers, and invalids.) But by 
 far the commonest case is the man for whose total 
 life the world changes for the better so far as it is 
 changed by his own behavior. Were he omnis- 
 cient he would not have that cut out from the 
 universe ; even when he might wish never to have
 
 602 A SUBSTITUTE FOR FREE WILL 
 
 been bom he would still wish that, were he to have 
 been born, the old privilege of modifying behavior 
 should remain. 
 
 The individual's gain through behavior does not 
 involve a counterbalancing loss to others of the 
 same species for somewhat the same reasons that 
 his temporary gain does not involve a total loss to 
 him. First, what is good for him as a total life is 
 good for the species more often than not and, 
 second, the species has power to weight the satisfy- 
 ingness of affairs. 
 
 There are no forces operating absolutely to make 
 what satisfies one total human life add to the 
 annoyance of all men ; and there is one force oper- 
 ating to make it frequently satisfy all, namely, the 
 similarity among members of the same species with 
 respect to the satisfyingness of varying conditions 
 of the environment. When a man alters nature to 
 suit this common humanity in himself, he alters it 
 to suit the common weal. For him to kill the 
 tiger in self-preservation preserves life for all ; for 
 him not to catch the yellow fever means less likeli- 
 hood of infection for every other man. Even the 
 cases which are quoted to support the doctrine of 
 antagonism between the individual and the species 
 often exemplify our rule ; the man who eats the 
 food that some one else would otherwise have had, 
 for instance, really alters nature for the common 
 weal, for it is to the interest of the human species 
 to have the food eaten by a man.
 
 EDWARD L. TIIORNDIKE 603 
 
 The satisfaction of the species has, too, a more 
 direct guarantee than that which comes from an 
 anarchy of individual impulses. Even before any 
 self-directed, deliberate social action appeared, nat- 
 ural selection provided through the social instincts 
 a certain amount of harmonization of the satisfying 
 to men singly with the satisfying to men as a group. 
 And in proportion as intelligence is directed towards 
 life, men as a group arrange its situations so as to 
 encourage and even compel such behavior of men 
 singly as shall not necessitate a common loss. In 
 the long run just as the life of the species oveiTules 
 any extravagant claims of the life of any individual, 
 so the wants of the species will and do overrule any 
 too selfish wants of an individual. When behavior 
 arises which, besides satisfying the individual, adds 
 to the sum of satisfaction of the group, it is almost 
 inevitably selected for survival. Parental care of 
 offspring, good will to fellows of the same species, 
 industry, intellectual curiosity and its sequents, 
 scientific investigation and invention, the sense of 
 justice — these and many other traits of human 
 nature and behavior are examples of the selection 
 in the human species of tendencies beneficent to it. 
 .fust as the forces of the world are such that, in 
 spite of the mutual warfare of species, life as a 
 whole gains, so they are also such that, in spite of 
 the mutual warfare of men, there is gain for human 
 satisfaction as a whole. 
 
 It is conceivable that all the human beings alive
 
 604 A SUBSTITUTE FOR FREE WILL 
 
 at one time might unite to exhaust the satisfying- 
 ness of the world to the ruin of future mankind. 
 If generation followed generation by a simultane- 
 ous birth of one with a long lapse before the birth 
 of the next, and if human nature were changed in 
 appropriate ways, such a sacrifice of the future of 
 the species would be not only conceivable but also 
 possible. One generation in its prime might waste 
 the world's supplies, leave the next generation un- 
 trained and plan a general destruction of materials, 
 knowledge, skill, and health. Counting all the 
 satisfaction of future men as nothing compared to 
 their own slightest gratification, one generation of 
 a species could then wreck its happiness as they 
 could destroy its life. 
 
 But, as things are, no one generation of the 
 species would accept such a doctrine of " After us, 
 the deluge," nor could it practice the doctrine if it 
 did. Each succeeding generation's happiness is 
 protected, by no means perfectly, but still some- 
 what, by the parental feelings and by the small 
 stock of general good will to the species which 
 characterizes the previous generation. And the 
 future generation is always there to protect itself. 
 The bond that unites contemporaries also unites 
 each generation with the next. We are bound to 
 Adam and to the superman as we are bound to our 
 next-door neighbors.^ 
 
 1 Whether the tendencies in behavior which change the world for the 
 better for one generation are transmitted through inheritance to the next 
 is, of course, an unsettled question, but with the chances overwhelmingly
 
 EDWARD L. TIIORNDIKE 605 
 
 It is not to be denied that this protection is a 
 restricted, hand-to-mouth affair, that the far-off 
 generation may lose enormously from particular acts 
 of its forebears, done possibly through malevolence, 
 often through indifference to remote human life, 
 and oftenest of all through ignorance. No doubt 
 each generation could do far less injury to those to 
 come just as it could to itself and just as each man 
 in it could to himself. No doubt, too, that the 
 future race is less cared for than present associates, 
 just as the present satisfaction is more cared for 
 than an equal future good to oneself. But tlie fact 
 remains that the colossal blunders of burning cities 
 for spite or spreading the plague by superstitious 
 pilgrimages are outweighed by equally colossal 
 benefactions, and that the ignorance surely, and the 
 indifference to remote humanity probably, are being 
 reduced by the very human behavior of which they 
 are a part. The constitution of things permits 
 enormous loss in satisfaction here and there through 
 behavior, but not in the total account. If meliorism 
 for the human species as a whole is lost, it must be 
 by outside attacks. So far as the behavior of the 
 species, from beginning to end, acts, it acts to 
 change the world for the better for the species 
 as a whole. 
 
 It is not within the province of this article to 
 measure the changes for the better made by human 
 
 in favor of the nef?ativ'e except for such general tendencies toward vigor, 
 health, and the like as can be expected to affect the germ-plasui in the same 
 way as the body-plasm.
 
 606 A SUBSTITUTE FOR FREE WILL 
 
 behavior, or those for the better and for the worse 
 made apart from human behavior, or to ask how the 
 balance is changing with the world's development 
 in time. Nor is it relevant to this discussion to ask 
 how in the past, present, or future the sum of human 
 satisfaction compares with the sum of human dis- 
 comfort. No one claims for free will that it makes 
 a positive balance of the first sort or that it needs a 
 positive balance of the second sort as verification. 
 What free will offers is the right to believe that 
 human behavior may, so far as it itself goes, possibly 
 change the world for the better. What our sub- 
 stitute for the freedom of the wiU offers is the surety 
 that it does. 
 
 The meliorism which has been sketched deserves 
 the epithet "intelligible." Concerning it we know 
 in general already that it applies in a measure to 
 many, possibly to all, animals ; that it is a function, 
 not of some mysterious entity, the will, but of in- 
 telligence pure and simple ; that it varies in power 
 in different human beings according to their ability 
 to learn ; and that it is not restricted to the conse- 
 quences of choices in great crises nor to those made 
 after deliberation or with a feeling of effort or with 
 acute consciousness of self. 
 
 We know further that it is very definitely limited. 
 Satisfyingness and annoyingness can only select, not 
 create. For the origination of mental variations 
 one must look, not to the wants of the creature,
 
 EDWARD L. THORNDIKE 607 
 
 but to the general constitution of the creator, the 
 world as a whole. The selection, too, is within only 
 a limited field, that of a fraction of our instinctive 
 responses and of the habits built up thereon. 
 Within these limits, however, our meliorism is 
 more than '* a doctrine of promise." It is a doctrine 
 of surety. We are not free occasionally to swerve 
 the future to our wants ; we are forced always to 
 do so. 
 
 The concrete particulars of its action, also, need 
 be in no wise fortuitous or unpredictable. On the 
 contrary, if one knew perfectly the total physiology 
 and psychology of an animal, including the satisfy- 
 ingness and annoyingness of every state of affairs 
 to it, he could predict the modifications in its be- 
 havior due to our law as surely as the unmodified 
 behavior of a hydrogen atom. This meliorism is 
 then entirely consistent with determinism, provided 
 that the world is so determined that for a neurone 
 connection to produce a satisfying result makes an 
 enormous diflference in that connection's future. 
 The world may have its every minutest item settled, 
 provided only that the items are so settled that in 
 certain organisms the habits of response which sat- 
 isfy most are most favored in survival. It is con- 
 sistent with indeterminism too, as it does not deny 
 that here and there there may be changes in the 
 universe coming from nothing, utterly lawless, un- 
 accountable, unpredictable residua of events to be 
 accepted but never to be understood. It would side
 
 608 A SUBSTITUTE FOR FREE WILL 
 
 with science in general, however, in discouraging 
 the behef in such residua. 
 
 This mehorism is independent of any hypothesis 
 concerning the interaction of mental events and 
 physical events. The felt satisfaction and discom- 
 fort can be direct agencies to alter connections 
 between neurones or they can be properties of 
 physiological features which do the work in some 
 such way as I have shown. 
 
 This meliorism applies to thought as well as to 
 conduct. For the word *' response " anywhere in 
 this paper, idea may be substituted on the same 
 terms as act. The beliefs of a man of science or a 
 philosopher are selected in just the same way as the 
 movements of his play at billiards or golf The 
 immediately satisfying to the individual, the satis- 
 fying to his entire life, the immediately satisfying 
 to one cross-segment of the species and the satisfy- 
 ing in the long run to the species as a whole — 
 these are the verae causae in the development of 
 belief, reasoning, and knowledge. If a system of 
 ideas is evolved which satisfies each perfectly while 
 equally satisfying all, it is bound to prevail. It 
 may not be the truth, but it will be unanimously 
 thought to be. 
 
 There is a superstition amongst philosophers that 
 human thinking is less a part of nature than human 
 action, that independence, creativeness, and trans- 
 cendency fit mental better than muscular behavior. 
 Even those who are distinguished by a sense for
 
 EDWARD L. THOllNDIKE 609 
 
 fact and an appreciation of the natural history of 
 thinking do not quite bring themselves to explain- 
 ing the existence of, say, their own doctrines just as 
 they would explain the existence of their style of 
 playing golf Professor Santayana, for example, has 
 not only eminent balance and impartiality in view- 
 ing the relations of human intelligence to the uni- 
 verse but also the dramatic tiilent to vicariously feel 
 as a man of science, yet even he makes thought 
 seem a producer in a sense that movement is not, 
 and movement seem a product in a sense that 
 thought is not. 
 
 Thought sliows the aspect of producer and hides 
 the aspect of product more often, because more of 
 the neurones concerned are modifiable than of those 
 concerned with movement ; but neither is more 
 truly or essentially a producer or product than the 
 other. Human reason in selecting both ideas and 
 acts is part and parcel of the same order of nature 
 in which the magnet selects the iron and the earth 
 its elliptical path. It is a product of the past and 
 a producer of the future just as is everything else. 
 Its value does not lie in its unnaturalness or super- 
 naturalness but in the fact that its productions are 
 in favor of Imman satisfaction. 
 
 One more characteristic of this meliorism remains 
 that deserves at least mere mention. It is a melior- 
 ism of fact, observed to occur, neither requiring nor 
 offering any guarantee transcending the guarantee 
 of Newton's laws, tlie sphericity of the earth or the 
 
 '!9
 
 610 A SUBSTITUTE FOR FREE WILL 
 
 reproduction of animal forms by fission. To assert 
 that, so far as a man's own behavior goes, he betters 
 himself, is the same variety of judgment as to say 
 that, so far as the behavior of the population of 
 Russia goes, it increases itself. 
 
 The modifications in human behavior thus belong 
 to science as truly as the repetitions. The history 
 of intellect and morals is as " natural " as the history 
 of the backbone. We can find out how the world 
 changes for the better by the same general methods 
 by which we find that it changes in the species in- 
 habiting it. And we may hope that the influence 
 of science on practice will here as elsewhere assist 
 our control of nature and men, until the success of 
 the physical sciences in making nature minister to 
 human wants is equalled by the success of the 
 mental sciences in making those wants rational and 
 benign. 
 
 The University Press, Cambridge, U. S. A.
 
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